


My Mender Of Broken Things

by ryn (ryn1505)



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, And I'm not gonna say any more because SPOILERS, Angst, Bastard Children, Blood Feuds, Broken Families, Broken Hearts, F/F, F/M, Family Issues, Fighting Your Family, Fighting Your Future, Flashbacks, Forbidden Love, Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, M/M, Oh and there's an omniscent narrator, Reputations, Suicide, War/Invasion, thats important
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21630400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryn1505/pseuds/ryn
Summary: Stick with me here. I know that you probably know the story, because it's how our Kingdom today came about. But I wanted to know the truth for myself, and I'm kind of a history buff. Plus, those new books in school miss a lot of information. Like, how did Veronica and JD even meet? Why would they do all that they did for each other? Why were the Heather's so important? How are the two families even connected?So yeah, I'm gonna answer my own questions.(Heathers ancient kingdoms au. Set in the past, I'll provide a lot of context in the first chapter)
Relationships: Heather Chandler & Heather Duke & Heather McNamara & Veronica Sawyer, Heather Chandler & Veronica Sawyer, Heather Chandler/Heather Duke, Heather Duke & Veronica Sawyer, Heather McNamara & Veronica Sawyer, Jason "J. D." Dean/Veronica Sawyer, Jason "J.D" Dean & Original Female Character (s), Kurt Kelly & Ram Sweeney & Veronica Sawyer, Kurt Kelly/Ram Sweeney, Martha Dunnstock & Veronica Sawyer, Martha Dunnstock/Heather McNamara
Comments: 89
Kudos: 51





	1. Mother Knows Best

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so yeah, I'm doing this again. A full on Heather's series, Romeo & Juliet esque, but it's actually quite different from my other fic so I guess it's not like I'm just going over the same stuff. And also just like forget every single canonical thing because this story is very very not canon compliant. 
> 
> Two things: One, I said this in the tags but this is from a 3rd person/omniscient narrator perspective. And Two, leave anything you don't understand in the comments and I'll include it as context in the next chapter, but I did try and explain most of the background in this chapter.
> 
> So, enjoy!

First of all, I’d just like to make it clear that nobody told me to do this. In fact, they kind of told me _not_ to, but more on that later.

This is the story of two people who tried to change things but weren’t all that clever about it (no offence). And since I’m not involved, I’ll be here taking the role of the omniscient narrator. Surrounded by a pile of history books and a fuck ton of paper to write this all down on.

I don’t really know why I’m doing this, I mean, they’ve told me the stories before. But I want to find out my history for myself, and then criticize every aspect of it. 

I’m a very critical person. I think I get it from my mum. 

Anyway, on with the story. 

(Side note - Nobody in this kingdom can keep accurate records, so most of the dialogue is invented. But I tried to fit it into what happened as much as possible)

⭗⭗⭗

**The Characters:**

**_Veronica “Ronnie” Sawyer -_ ** _Princess of Westerburg, age 17_

 **_Catherine Sawyer -_ ** _Queen of Westerburg, age 37_

 **_Leonard Sawyer -_ ** _King of Westerburg, age 45_

**_Heather Chandler -_ ** _Lady in Waiting to the Princess, age 19_

 **_Heather “H” Duke -_ ** _Lady in Waiting to the Princess, age 17_

 **_Heather “Mac” McNamara -_ ** _Lady in Waiting to the Princess, age 17_

 **_Martha Dunnstock -_ ** _Fellow nobility, age 17_

 **_Ram Sweeney -_ ** _Suitor to the Princess, age 17_

 **_Kurt Kelly -_ ** _Suitor to the Princess, age 17_

**_Pauline “The Dragon” Fleming -_ ** _Tutor to the Princess, age 53_

**_Jason “JD” Dean -_ ** _Prince of Dekanus, age 17_

 **_Bud Dean -_ ** _King of Dekanus, age 46_

 **_Cephy Dean -_ ** _Queen of Dekanus, age 40_

 **_Naomi Dean -_ ** _Princess of Dekanus, age 15_

**_Slushie -_ ** _JD’s horse_

⭗⭗⭗

“Veronica, please, stop moving around. Your hair is hard enough to tame as it is.”

Veronica tried to relax her face, but it was hard. There was a swirl of emotions trying to take control, and she didn’t just want to sit still whilst Heather pulled at her hair and tried to wrestle it back into a respectable bun.

H was sitting on the golden bed, combing down a midnight blue dress sent up by The Dragon, aka Miss Fleming, earlier. And Mac was tidying away the brushes she’d just spent an hour combing over Veronica’s face, trying to hide the scratches from their trip into the Royal Gardens earlier.

Martha was resplendent in a maroon dress, staring out of the window. “What do you think it’s for?” She asked, watching the crowds of noblemen and poor alike enter the golden gates of the castle. 

“Probably just another excuse for Sawyer and Catherine to show off their resplendent wealth and beautiful kingdom.” Heather scoffed. “I wonder if anybody will show up from across the water.”

“Heather!” Mac gasped, setting down the brushes. “You know that there’s high tension between us. Don’t be so ridiculous.”

“One comment won’t start a war, Mac.” H got up and pulled Veronica round into her closet. “Now, get dressed, because if you’re late again we’ll lose our heads.”

Veronica pulled off her much-more-comfortable tunic and leggings and climbed into the mountain of blue velvet. It fitted, but it pinched. And made it really hard to move around, which she suspected was the idea - you couldn’t run away in this dress. 

When she came into her room, the Heather’s were fighting with pillows and Martha was sitting in hysterics on her bed. 

She smiled, and wished this could last forever.

But there were balls to attend and duties to fulfill.

After all, she was the royal princess. Born to be kind and gracious, biting her tongue when she wanted to talk back to rich old men who thought they knew everything because they were noble and clenching her fists at her sides when sometimes she just wanted to burn the palace to the ground. Heather always clucked her tongue whenever she saw the grooves made by Veronica's perfectly manicured nails (because obviously princesses have to be perfect, right?)

⭗⭗⭗

“Everyone looks so regal!” Martha whispered in Veronica’s ear as they descended the staircase into the fray of nobles.

Normally, she just moved through balls like they were a chore and ignored everyone, waiting for the night to be over. But lately she’d started paying attention.]

Why was it that they had to segregate between the nobles and the “commoners”? Couldn’t everyone dance together? 

And she couldn’t help noticing that nobody wore black, despite the theme of the ball being darkness. In fact, she’d seen nobody in a black gown for the last year, ever since whispers of a war started creeping round corners, a war with the neighbouring Kingdom of Dekanus, who’d adopted a flag of all black.

The last time she’d seen somebody her age, or slightly younger, in a black dress at a ball, it had been two years ago and the Princess of Dekanus had attended with her mother. Naomi hadn’t spoken to anybody that night, but Veronica had watched her move away from all conversations and wondered why she seemed so scared of any imposing male figure.

Then she’d remembered the rumours of an abusive ruler, and how a librarian once told her that Dekanus was Norwegian for Dean, which was their surname and the Kingdom’s official name, but most people who lived there just called it the Kingdom of Hell, and now Veronica couldn’t stop looking. 

Tonight, though, based on the looks her parents were giving her, Veronica guessed that she couldn’t just drift through the hours.

“I’ll see you later.” She whispered in Martha’s ear, and joined her parents on the stage, bowing low before them. 

“Veronica, honey, come stand with me.” Her mother, imposing and distant as always, pulled Veronica off to a crowd of noblewoman, sipping glasses of wine. 

And Veronica tried not to notice Martha laughing with friends she’d never be able to make, because everyone else was too afraid to talk to her.

Eventually, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Two boys she’d never seen before, both with brown curls and biceps barely contained in suit jackets, were grinning at her, and she felt the slightest pinch of fear in her stomach.

⭗⭗⭗

“And then after backing this supposed enemy, the state figure next?”

“Erm, he died?”

"Yes, but how, Veronica?”

“He, he was in a duel?”

“Dear sweet Lord, have mercy. But we got there eventually, _yes_ , Veronica, well done.” Miss Fleming sighed and leaned against the marble pillar of the tutoring room. 

“I don’t see why I need to know this.” Veronica stacked the papers neatly at the side of her desk and put the lid on her ink bottle, ready to leap up and escape to the privacy of the Heather’s shared room. “It’s not history.”

“Yes, but it’s a play still performed in village markets today. _Cultural awareness_ , Veronica, cultural awareness. You must understand the arts of the common people if you are to rule them.”

“Right.” Veronica braced her knuckles against the desk, waiting. But instead of her usual deep sigh, The Dragon smirked. 

“Oh no, not today you don’t. You have guests, Veronica. No gallivanting about with the servants -”

At guests, her blood froze, and without waiting to be dismissed she leapt up and ran straight into the gardens…

Where sure enough, Kurt and Ram were waiting at the fountain, leering at her.

⭗⭗⭗

“I mean, we totally fucked up our school, but who cares about education?” Ram snickered, throwing his arm around Kurt as they dragged an unwilling Veronica about the gardens. “But we were just, you know, busy doing other things.” They both grinned and sniggered again, then Ram quickly pulled his arm off of Kurt.

“Girls.” He clarified. “Definitely girls.”

It was the first thing he’d said since Veronica met him that she wanted to laugh at. God, how could a person be so _dumb_? She wanted to go and pull her brain out after every word they said. 

Her parents thought they were suitable to be suitors to the princess? _Kurt and Ram_? She’d never even heard of them, but apparently they were foreign nobility. With connections to a member of court living on the Southern outskirts of the Kingdom, who supposedly owned one of the largest private armies - and since Dekanus was to the South, that part made sense. Protection at all costs.

But even though she knew that she would be married off like a mere pawn one day, couldn’t her parents have at least picked somebody who didn’t have the IQ of a dead rat? There were plenty other nobles with both armies and sons, and those sons at least knew how to talk about something other than how great they are and how they totally weren’t attracted to one another. 

And with that last part, she was even more confused. Why were they pretending? The chief minister of the Kingdom was married to another man, Westerburg was a Kingdom of accepting pretty much everything. 

Plus, she was known as the smart princess. The one that could read people, when she bothered to talk to them. If they were clever enough to hatch a plan to pretend not to be homosexual and marry the princess to inherit an entire kingdom, then why in gods name would they choose her? And not some dumb blonde from another kingdom? 

She doubted they could have come up with such a plan, so it was more likely this was created by that courtier. A courtier who she’d actually played chess against, Rodney McCord, and one who knew how clever she was. How anybody with half a brain could easily spot that they were homosexual. 

So unless he just didn’t care that she would notice this and didn’t really give about what her husband did, there was something else going on. Something that would happen before she could ever get the chance to join with either Kurt or Ram in holy matrimony. 

Veronica needed a break. She couldn’t stand just living her boring, useless life anymore, walking around the palace with no purpose.

She wanted to speak to somebody who didn’t bow, who didn’t censor themselves because clearly her delicate female brain couldn’t handle a full intelligent conversation. 

At least market people could probably engage in three topics of conversation.

⭗⭗⭗

“Let me get this straight.” Heather frowned, hands on her hips. “You want to just go out into the Kingdom market and expect nobody to even _notice_ you. You, the _royal_ princess. You, heir to the throne. Somebody who has never had to speak to any sort of commoner -”

“OK, I get it!” Veronica threw her hands up in the air and fell back onto her bed. “But you weren’t always a courtier Heather. Don’t you miss a normal life?”

Heather laughed. “Bitch please. There were no hair brushes in the homes of the poor. My head looked like it was surrounded by a mane. 

Veronica rolled her eyes. Seriously, why couldn’t people just not try and argue with her? “All I need is to borrow some of your less-obvious clothes.”

“You should’ve asked Mac. She’s not a slut.”

“I wasn’t _calling_ you a slut, I was just -”

“I get it, Veronica. Here.” Heather threw a musty brown cloak in the direction of the bed. “And wear my hunting boots. You’ll be noticed immediately, but cover your face and I’ll stall for you.”

“Really!” Veronica wrapped the cloak around her light blue dress and pulled Heather into a tight hug. “You’re amazing, Heather!”

“Yes, I know.” Heather grunted, trying to break free. “Now go. And try not to fall at the first hurdle.”

“See, this is exactly why I need to go!” Veronica called out as she ran down the stairs. “I have absolutely no idea what that expression means!”

Heather sighed and turned to the window, watching the figure in the brown cloak slip out through the gates. 

“She’ll be caught so quickly.” She chuckled. “God, how can somebody so smart be so fucking clueless?”

And for the record, Heather was very very right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated, if you wanna check out any of the regular shit I post outside of AO3 my tumblr is [ here](http://scones-and-slushies.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'll see y'all next chapter!  
> Mae x


	2. A Pair Of Star-Crossed Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did my heart love till now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, erm -
> 
> Ok, it's not just this story I ain't updated in a while. I'm trying to get back into the swing of things, so I apologise. 
> 
> But hey, I'm back, and you're looking at maybe a weekly\biweekly update schedule.
> 
> Hopefully...
> 
> Regardless, enjoy the chapter!

He never means to stare. After all, you shouldn’t wish for what you can’t have. If you ignore it, then the pain goes away.

But he can’t help it. His father will be torturing a supposed “traitor”, his tutor will be educating him on the feud between Dekanus and Westerburg that seems to have existed since the Earth began, and he’ll just stare at the woods that blanket his kingdom and wonder what it feels like to live somewhere the horizon is more than an impenetrable mass of trees. 

The thing is, Jason knows his dad is a dictator. He’s read enough (definitely illegal) texts on philosophy to understand that the way his father rules; an iron fist, no council to advise him, the head of every district from education to law - all the old writers warn about people like Bud Dean. 

And Jason knows that one day, he’ll take his father's place. Even though he’d much rather live in the woods writing and swinging swords and trees and generally just be emo. Even if his younger sister seemed to have taken his share of brains, nobility and responsibility.

The only reason he imagines a future where Naomi is Queen is because it’s so ridiculous is laughable, and he knows it will never happen. His sister was an accident. Because the King already had a perfect son, so why would he ever need a useless daughter?

As of right now, his father wants to hold onto his power for a few more years, despite the fact that Jason is eighteen and the same age when Bud took the throne, so the King gave his son an honorary position in the army - as a general.

Wasn’t much the guy who used to have the job could say, because after all, it’s better to be unemployed than to have to your permanent residence as a spike that holds your head over the palace gates for all eternity. 

Thing is, Jason is hopeless at anything to do with fighting. Sure, he could beat the shit out of most people, but apparently you have to use a sword if you ever go to fight in the army - you can’t just leap off your horse and kick the enemies asses with your kung-fu ninja moves. 

That’s another thing he has a problem with - Westerburg.

Why are they the enemy? They’ve never (that he knows of) sent a spy into Dekanus, tried to assassinate the King or pull of any dramatic invasion scheme.

No, they seem perfectly happy to chill on the other side of the forest, minding their own business and soaking up the sun.

Maybe the King is just bitter that Westerburg is better in every way. Open, powerful, rich, allied with a fair few other kingdoms, according to his mum they own an island somewhere in the Southern Isles - yeah, they just seemed to be doing better in every way.

Whoever the Prince/Princess is, they got the lucky end of the stick. Because he’s stuck here.

⭗⭗⭗

“What one do you think?” Naomi held up two dresses that seemed pretty much the same to Jason: black, lace, knee-length, etc etc. But according to his sister, there was actually a choice to be made between them.

“I don’t know Nio. The first one.” He nodded towards the first of the two, and she sighed, clearly noticing his mood. 

“What’s up, JD?” She’s the only one who calls him that, because it’s too common for his father and too distasteful for his mother (Yet J-J is better?), and also she knows he wishes that was his actual name. 

He sighed heavily, mirroring her earlier emotions. “Do you wanna rule, Nio?”

She laughed. Actually no - she snorted, then leaned against his shoulder. “Well, yeah, I mean, probably more than you do anyway. But it’s not an option for me, is it? Why?”

“Well I don’t want to.”

“Don’t start swimming with open wounds in shark-infested waters, J.” When he raises his eyebrows at her and her stupid sayings, she always rolls her eyes like the weight of the world is forced onto her shoulders.

She rolled them at him.

“I mean, father will beat the living daylight out of you if he hears you talk like this. And he’s always listening.”

“Yeah, pops can hear through walls, can’t he?”

“Well don’t you remember that time…” And then she launched into a tirade about some noble gossip scandal. It always amazes him how his sister seems to knows every single thing that’s happening, even confidential, very important things that he hasn’t been told about yet.

Looking out of the window, Jason could see the tint of sunrise creeping over the trees, meaning it’s probably about ten in the morning. He almost envied his sister, getting to just sit at a fancy noble dinner whilst he has to ride out into the fringes of the woods to look for any Westerburg spies.

It’s a monthly occurrence, and he’s been doing it now for ten years. There’s never anybody there. It’s a pointless waste of his day. 

But it means getting to ride, and getting to escape from the suffocating stone walls for a little while, so he doesn’t complain much. The forest smells nicer than most places in Dekanus, anyway.

⭗⭗⭗

The stupid horse practically winked at him. Jason groaned.

If he hadn’t decided to split from the group just so he didn’t have to climb up the bloody hill that winds him, not just his mount, then this wouldn’t have happened. 

Curse his laziness and his dumb fucking horse and the entire existence of quicksand pits.

“I give up. You can die here, Slushie. I won’t mourn you.”

Slushie neighed, as if to say ‘oh, but who else will you read your angsty poetry too?’

It’s probably a bad thing to imagine that he knows what his horse is saying. But his psyche is so fucked anyway it’s not like anything matters.

“I mean, what even is this thing.” Jason gestured towards the pit about the size of a tree trunk that Slushie somehow managed to get stuck in. “Why is it here?”

Slushie just snorts in reply.

“Aren’t you a  _ good _ boy, huh.” He grabbed the reins and tugged, managing to finally pull Slushie’s back legs free. But with that problem solved, he finally realised that he had absolutely no idea where in hell he was.

Jason tipped his face to the sky, but it wasn’t like he could see anything but a hell of a lot of tall trees. “What do we do now, huh Slushie?”

Slushie groaned. Then pawed the ground, nodding his head in the direction of a space wide enough to ride through between the trees. There were plenty of paths heading into the grove they’d found themselves in, but Jason had no idea what one would take him back.

“What, so you’re my compass now?” But he climbed into the saddle anyway, riding off into the unforgiving forest.

Slushie didn’t seem to be travelling in any specific direction, he was just moving through the spaces in the shadows. It felt like Jason was in some kind of old novel, riding through the woods trying to escape or get back to his lover or return to reclaim his phone or any other sort of cliche. 

“Hey, where are we going?” Jason leaned forwards, digging his ankles into Slushie’s body. But the horse just kept pressing forward, not seeming to notice, being pulled ahead by some mysterious force Jason couldn’t feel or succumb to.

If he was being honest, even though it was probably the most embarrassing thing about him, Slushie was his only friend, not including his sister. 

(Because having your only friends being your sister and your horse is even more embarrassing.)

There was nothing remarkable about the horse. All black, like every mount was in the supposed-army. His name had been - actually, Jason didn’t remember the name Slushie had been given by the breeders, but his name was from a drink he’d read something about in a book somewhere. 

But they’d been together for so long that Jason could just let go of the reins and lean back, letting Slushie just ride on. It was refreshing, out in the woods, away from the shadows and the smells and the stifling atmosphere. The trees were thinning out, and Jason almost sighed at the realisation they’d be home soon.

Except when they emerged from the forest, it was very clear that Slushie had taken him a long way from home.

⭗⭗⭗

“I wish Heather was here.” Veronica muttered as she tucked herself into the space between two stalls, fairly certain that she’d already been recognised and a squad of royal guards would be sent to dispatch her at any moment.

Heather had managed to trick her into believing that a cloak and a pale blue dress would manage to hide the royal darling of the Kingdom as she walked amongst the commoners in the closest market to the castle - holy shit, why did she ever think this was a good idea? 

Veronica fingered the lining of her cloak. She’d come out with a few copper coins and a mission to just watch and linger and escape, maybe buy a few things, actually have an afternoon of freedom for once. Instead, all she’d done was run away every time somebody looked at her for longer than a second. 

This was bullshit. What was she doing? This entire afternoon would have been for nothing if she didn’t go and at least buy a melon or something.

Veronica slipped out of the alcove and mixed in with the crowd, keeping her head low and her hands tucked deep in her pockets to ensure no passing thief would try to take her money.  Then the afternoon really would have been pointless. 

But she should have been paying more attention to her surroundings than the paving stones. Almost in slow motion, she felt her leg slip from beneath her, caught on the legs of a stall, and the ground grew closer…

And closer…

And closer…

And everything just went -

Black…

⭗⭗⭗

Nobody was looking at him, which made him think that his father has seriously overestimated the state of Westerburg's security. 

But seriously, a complete stranger can just stroll out of the woods in the enemy uniform and nobody would question that? Christ, he was wearing his under-layers and a brown cloak so it's not like he screamed  _ “I'm an enemy soldier drag me off to the square to be publicly beheaded”  _ but still, since everyone here seemed to have a personal vendetta against the colour black (the market looked like a rainbow had been poisoned then puked it's guts all over the inhabitants of Westerburg in slightly muted tones), it was a wonder only one man had stared at him with a trace of vendetta in his gaze.

And that was because Jason had refused to buy the man's extortionately priced fish.

If his father was here, he'd order Jason to spy. To take advantage of the lack of security and try to find out -

Wait, had these people turned their hanging arena into a fruit market?

Bloody hell, this place was a far cry from Dekanus. It looked as though the wooden beam standing in the center of the stalls - which in his hometown was almost always populated by mangled human corpse (the King had a flair for the dramatic) - no, it looked like it would collapse if you hung a melon from the hook at the end, let alone a criminal.

Jason had always known that his father must have been stretching the truth about the horrors of Westerburg, Naomi and he had discussed it many times.

But still…

No guards? No brawling fights? The only shouting to be heard from haggling merchants? No bodies of the freshly executed stinking out the air.

Jason rarely went into the Dekanus main market, it was like walking into purgatory. And taking a chance with the black markets on the outskirts of most towns was the equivalent of jumping in the flaming river.

But he never imagined the sworn enemy country could be so…

Peaceful.

Jason turned slowly, his back to the fountain and tight-knit cluster of stalls surrounding it, trying to see everything - because he knew soon he'd have to go.

The people, the colours, the -

⭗⭗⭗

“Oh my god, I'm -” Veronica blurted into the chest of the stranger she'd just crashed into, before realising that her voice was instantly recognisable to anybody who'd ever been to a royal event where she'd been forced to speak - and there had been quite a few of those in the recent months.

“So sorry, sir.” She lowered her head and her usually brusque tone, checking the boots of the stranger to confirm she hadn't just mistaken their gender. 

But the stranger didn't offer a quick remark then walk off like a normal person would do - he didn't move a muscle. And she was still staring at his feet.

Those boots looked military grade?

Ignoring the thoughts that were running through her head at the strangers odd choice of footwear, Veronica just kept staring at his feet. 

“I'm dreadfully sorry, sir.” She tried again, and attempted to move past him. But he grabbed her arm and when she wheeled around to face him, suddenly indignant - 

Her heart skipped a beat.

God, he was handsome. Brown\black curls, an angled jawline, and (though she didn't normally think this) piercing brown eyes.

He raised an eyebrow at her, still holding tight to her sleeve.

“You changed your voice.”

Veronica snatched her hand back, brought out of the trance by his sarcastic tone. God, if Heather had been there, she would have sniggered and made a remark at Veronica's clear lack of sexual satisfaction in her life so far, because this kid wasn't even that cute. 

Heather, in an annoying way, would probably have been right. Like usual.

“I beg your pardon?” She kept the fake voice on, holding her hand close to her chest, but not meeting the strangers gaze. Not again.

“Your voice.” He said, emphasising his words like they had some secret meaning she hadn't been clued into. “You started off in your normal voice, but then it changed. And whilst that cloak looks vaguely tattered, your dress is spotless. So, got something to hide, princess?”

Veronica panicked. 

She ran.

⭗⭗⭗

Well damn, that girl had been beautiful. Thick brown curls, soft blue eyes, and he could stare at her lips for days…

But then of course, he'd scared her off by being an insensitive prick. Naomi would have said that it was a regular occurrence.

And now he was just left staring at the spot where she'd been. 

“Hey, wait!” Jason pushed through the crowd, following the flash of brown barely visible through the various colours of the market. “Wait!” 

It was pretty clear that the girl didn't really know where she was going, and then she almost ran straight into a wall as she crashed into one of the many walls peppering the walls separating out sections of the market.

“Wait, wait.” Jason caught up to her, but she didn't turn to face him - she kept her head to the ground like before. Definitely something to hide.

“I'm sorry, that was rude and im-”

“Impertinent, yes.” The girl spun on her heel to face him, simpery fake voice replaced by a much harsher but obviously  _ real _ tone. “And you might be correct in assuming I have something to hide, but based on the look of those boots and your choice of colourful attire, I'm guessing you do too.”

And despite himself, Jason grinned.

⭗⭗⭗

“I've never heard black described as colourful before.” The boy smirked. 

“Well, in case you were just born yesterday, pretty boy, black is the colour of the enemy. You're standing out.” Veronica snapped back at his stupidly annoying good-looking smile. 

“I don't think I should be the one to worry about standing out, since I'm not wearing royal attire like yourself.” The boy raised another eyebrow, and there wasn't the option of running away this time.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Veronica tried to replicate Heather 's haughty tone, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“So, are you really a princess?”

“I -" Veronica checked herself, after all, it wasn't like they were alone in a place where her easily recognisable voice couldn't be heard by the public masses. “I'm no princess.” She replied, keeping her voice low. “I just work for her.”

“Oh, so you're a thief then?” The boy crossed his arms, mirroring her position, and then she felt compelled to shove hers into her cloak pockets. 

“What? No! This is… an old dress. She gave it to me.”

“Gave it to you? I didn't think royalty were the sort to hand out very valuable dresses to the servants of the castle.” He dropped his arms into his trouser pockets and Veronica could see the smirk hidden behind his eyes as he watched her move her hands to her hair. 

“Well, I'm a trusted employee. And I'm experiencing the market for her.” She tried to avoid looking left; it was an annoying habit she'd developed in that six months when Heather had insisted she practice at least three lies a day because 'deception was a useful skill'.

“Oh, so you're like her eyes in the dreaded outside world, then? He pushed his hands back into his hair in such an overly-casual move that Veronica wanted to slap him.

“Look, could you just, stop! Copying my hands!” She collapsed onto the walk behind her. “Just get out of my way, please?”

“But I thought we were bonding?” He grinned, leaning next to her.

“I don't even know your name, pretty boy.” Veronica sighed, “And we're not bonding. You tripped me up, accused me of theft and trapped me in a very small alleyway.”

“It's...JD.” He took her hand and kissed it, eyes never moving from Veronica's face in a way that really shouldn't have seemed so sexy but it was and she hated everything about this stupid, dumb, pointless day.   


“Ronnie.” She turned to properly face him, trying not to smile. She couldn't remember having such an easy conversation with a boy, ever.    


“A lovely, totally fake nickname.” He laughed at the indignant expression that must have flashed onto her face. “I jest, Ronnie.”

It was strange to have somebody that wasn't the Heather's and Martha call her that, 

⭗⭗⭗

Jason didn't believe her claims at being a handmaiden. She was too pretty for that, too pretty in a way that suggested she was the one being looked after.

Not that she looked fake pretty, just it was clear she'd lived a pretty pampered life from her mannerisms. 

Though she was smart, clearly - she'd spotted his boots and recognised that they were military style. He'd totally forgotten about them in his hurried attempt to tie Slushie to the trees hidden at the edge of the forest (the horse hadn't complained. Much) and vaguely disguise himself. 

“Well, Ronnie, I do suppose as an apology for my accusation I could at least buy you a melon?” Jason moved to the opening of the alley, holding out his hand. She rolled her eyes and brushed past him.

“Melons are expensive”

“True, but the stall is on the other side of this bustling crowd, which gives the perfect time for icebreaker questions, don't you think?” He kept grinning whenever he looked at her. 

“If you ask me anything along the lines of age, parents or favorite things, I'm leaving.” She linked her arm with his - to avoid being pulled away by the crowd. He tried to not make a deal of it in his head. Tried to slip into this new JD persona.    


“I was thinking, more, I don't know… if the world was ending tomorrow, and you can't stop it, but you could do anything else, what would you do?”

Ronnie looked up at him with a question in her eyes, then just rolled her eyes. “Stupidest question I ever heard.”

“There are no stupid questions.” He teased, pulling her along in the direction of the slightly-longer route to the stall. “Come on, what's your answer?

“I'd take the people I cared about to another world that wasn't ending.” She looked up at him with smiling blue eyes and something clenched in Jason's chest. “You did say I could do anything.”

“Clever girl.” He smirked, trying to push down the feeling. 

“Well, what would you do?”

“Find a massive lake with an endless view, ride out into the center with some music and watch the world burn.” 

She huffed and pulled out of his grip. “How very.” Jason opened his mouth to reply, but then Ronnie stopped short beside him. “Shit shit shit.” He heard her mutter, but he couldn't see who'd spooked her.

“What is-" He started to ask, but she slammed her hand over his mouth and yanked him to the side of the crowd.

“I swear to God.” She whispered, peering round Jason's shoulder. “Can 't I do anything without her just appearing like some kind of mother-ghost?” 

“Who the hell are you -" But then Ronnie's face paled, and he turned to face a woman that could only be described as sharp and pinched, with brown hair piled high in a bun and the most terrifying frown directed straight through him.

“Care to explain the situation, your Highness?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't that adorable and cute and all soulmate-ey (that's so now a word)
> 
> And don't go trying to predict the end of the story from all the Romeo and Juliet references this chapter, you sneaks
> 
> [ say hi :) ](http://scones-and-slushies.tumblr.com/)  
> x


	3. Rules Are Made To Be Broken?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three love stories - so far, only one fulfilled. And it's not the one you think...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy guys. So I hasn't been that long since my last update, which is an...improvement. From a two month break.
> 
> We're at two weeks now! Yay!
> 
> (Are we? I'm writing this at night and cba to open another tab to check my last update...date. Oof, bad grammar.)
> 
> Anyway, a thing to remember for this chapter:
> 
> Heather Chandler will be referred to by everyone as Heather, and she calls herself that.  
> Heather Duke will be referred to by everyone as H, and she calls herself that.  
> Heather McNamara will be referred to by everyone as Mac, but she calls herself Heather.

It was an empty, windowless room. A dim candle in one candle. Cool stone bars forming the only way in or out. A hay bale in one corner, the length of a normal man.

But, it could have been a lot worse.

Trust me, it could have been.

JD had only ever been to the Dekanus dungeons once, to escort an escaped thief that he himself had caught in the woods. It had only taken two minutes, but he’d vowed to never go back there again.

In Westerburg, it was a blissful silence that filled his tower prison. In Dekanus, you couldn’t hear yourself think over the whips, screams and prayers for mercy. His father believed in torture, and if you were lucky, execution - because torture most often involved the loss of at least one limb. 

So yeah, prison wasn’t great. But it could have been worse. He just hoped Slushie was doing alright. 

JD fingered the hem of the woven shirt the guards had provided for night wear. 

It was blue, blistered by the sun, but the same shade as her dress…

Prison was  _ definitely _ worth it.

⭗⭗⭗

“Your dinner, princess.”

The redheaded serving girl bowed low, placing the golden gilded tray at the edge of Veronica’s bed. She sighed, hugging the silk pillow closer to her chest. 

“Wait!” She called, startling - was it Francesca? Freya? 

“Yes, your highness?” Francesca-Freya bowed again, and it was pissing Veronica off. H never bowed, when she came in with dinner. 

“Where is my handmaiden? She usually brings my dinner if I’m not dining with my parents.”

“It is Ms Flemming’s orders, ma’am.” Another fucking bow, and then she was finally gone. 

The silk pillow when flying across the room, and Veronica screamed into her fists. She couldn’t  _ believe _ that after the most adventurous afternoon of her life, she was locked in her room like a spoiled child. The dragon was such a  _ bitch _ . 

She screamed again, and the gilded tray went crashing onto the marble floor. 

“Oh fuck,” Veronica leaned down to see what she could salvage from the mess. “This is just  _ great. _ ”

Of course it had to be some kind of pie. Well, there was nobody watching, so she just grabbed a handful and stuffed it into her mouth -

Before gagging and choking on something that was  _ not  _ pie.

Amongst the food that landed in her palm, there was a single piece of paper, decorated in one edge with a red flower. 

She smirked, and not even noticing the ferocious storm outside, threw open the window to let Heather Chandler tumble into her room.

“How long were you out there, you idiot?” She grabbed the blankets off her bed, wrapping them around her handmaid's shaking frame. “Your hair is soaked.”

“Please don’t remind me.” Heather blew the damp curls out of her face, shaking her head and spraying droplets of water all across the bed. “And it was only a few minutes. You forget that I’m two years older than you all, and I spent my childhood climbing castle walls to escape into the market.”

(If I could just add in a note here, as your omniscient narrator and beloved storyteller: take note of that two years older bit, because  ***spoiler* *spoiler* *big twist* *spoiler*** will  _ not  _ make sense otherwise)

“Well, unless you want to get soaked again, I suggest you spend the night here. I’m locked in.” 

“No problem bitch, I’m gonna steal some of your clothes now. Cool?”

Heather shut the closet doors behind her, running a finger through her ragged curls. Every time she came in here, it was a hurricane of silks and rich fabrics, a far cry from the torn sheets you used to tie together as a dress, back before everything. 

But Heather didn’t like to dwell on the past.

⭗⭗⭗

“You should keep them.” Veronica mumbled through a mouthful of pie, gesturing to the woven brown trousers Heather had pulled from the back of her closet.

“Please, I have  _ some _ sense of fashion. And don’t talk when you’re eating, it’s fucking gross.” Heather grabbed a cushion from the mountain at the end of Veronica’s bed and pulled it to her chest, shimmying closer to the princess who was still shoving pie in her mouth. “Ok, so what really happened?”

When Veronica opened her mouth, Heather grabbed a crust of pie and started to nibble on it, adding “Oh, and I know about the boy they dragged to the dungeons? Did he try to do it?”

“What the, wait - no!” Veronica threw a cushion that Heather dodged easily, laughing hysterically. “No, he was just...buying me a melon as an apology for accusing me of theft.”

“So he just wanted to fuck you?”

“Heather!” Another cushion went flying. “He was being a gentleman.”

Heather raised her eyebrows, and Veronica had to rein in her laughter. 

“But anyway, he didn’t do anything wrong. JD just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now he’s in a dungeon.”

“So the mystery boy has a name. Alright.” Heather swung her ankles off of the bed, making her way to the door whilst tugging off a golden earring. “But he’ll be fine, one night on a bed of hay then free by morning.”

“I did try to persuade my father to install something better to sleep - hey wait, what are you doing?” Veronica sat straight up, forehead furrowing as she watched Heather slip her end of her earring into the lock. “There is no way you’ll open that.”

“Please, give me some credit here your highness.” A moment of silence, then a creak as the door slid slowly open.”

“Well, colour me impressed.” Veronica grabbed the brown cloak off of the back of her chair, slipping it on over her nightgown and following Heather into the corridor. 

It was completely empty - she’d expected at least one guard. 

“Where are we going?” She grabbed at the golden-haired girls arm as they made their way down the nearest stairwell. “This is - oh, oh no Heather.”

“Oh yes, Ronnie.” Heather grabbed at Veronica’s hand, pulling her down into the dusk of the dungeons. “We are going to find your mystery boy and spare him a night of sleeping on a hay bale. Now, give me five.”

“What, so you can go make out with the guard then steal his keys?” Veronica whisper-shouted after Heather’s retreating figure, then sighed and fell back against the stone wall.

This was so, so stupid. And so predictably Heather. That girl just loved to stir up trouble, and Veronica was almost entirely sure that this was purely to mess with the dragon. 

But, she would get to see JD again…

“Oh, fuck off brain.” She muttered, nibbling at her right nails. She had to stop thinking about the stranger - because he  _ was _ a stranger - from the market. There was no room for a random soldier in her life. After all, she had two suitors…

Ha, yeah. Kurt and Ram. She supposed they were handsome, in a way that the maids gossiped about. But they seemed pale in comparison to JD. He was...darker. With an angled face and shadows in his eyes that seemed to whisper secrets to you. 

“No no no nope.” Veronica smacked her hand against her forehead. “This is just me repaying a stranger for all his troubles.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” Veronica jumped as Heather waved a ring of silver keys in her face. “Let’s go, huh? He’s in the twentieth cell.”

“Won’t the guard stop us?” Veronica whispered, despite Heather’s eye roll.

“Oh honey no, he’ll need a minute to calm himself down.” Heather wiggled one eyebrow. “If you get what I mean.”

“I regret asking.” Veronica said dryly, crossing her arms as they reached the cell. 

Heather clicked the keys into the lock, and the figure on the bed jumped straight into the air, rushing to the door.

He pulled back slowly when he saw the two of them.

“Ronnie?”

“Don’t sound so shocked, I’m just apologising for getting you put in here in the first place.” If she didn’t look at his face, then he wouldn’t make her heart skip a beat...right?

“Damn, so he is good looking.” Heather smirked. “Well, follow me.”

“Who’s that?” JD whispered in Veronica’s ear as they made their way down the corridor. 

Shit. “Oh, erm, just my, my friend. She works in the kitchens.” Veronica heard Heather’s indignant snort, but thankfully JD didn’t press any further. She’d managed to cover up the royalty slip-up from the dragon earlier by pretending that it was only a case of mistaken identity due to the dress, but now she was entirely caught in the lie.

They remained in an awkward triangle of silence - Heather smirking, Veronica abashed and JD bemused - until they passed into the gardens through some servant door. No guards bothered them, which was probably a statement about the state of palace security despite the war threat. 

“Through here, handsome.” Heather broke open the lock on a metal gate with her earrings, gesturing JD through. “You’re at the edge of the market.”

She slipped back into the night, leaving Veronica alone with the man she was desperately trying not to make eye contact with.

“Well, I apologise again for the, erm, erm,  _ inconvenience _ , and I hope you find your way home.” She bowed her head, trying to hide her pink cheek. God, she’d never sounded so embarrassing.

Then her blush went from pink to blazing red, as Jd put his finger under her chin to meet her gaze. A smile flitted across his face. “Goodbye...princess.”

And then he was gone.

⭗⭗⭗

“Well, sounds like you had such a fun night Veronica.” H laughed as Veronica woke up in a cloud of brown curls. “Heather asked me to bring you breakfast.”

“And she had to tell you everything about last night too?” Veronica grumbled, reaching for the toast on H's tray.

“Course.” H smirked, but she could never do it as well as Heather. She just looked like she was either grimacing, if she tried too hard, or that she was genuinely smiling.

“Maybe you should get some sleep Veronica. Actual sleep, I mean, not sex dreams of the prisoner.” H chuckled, dodging the pillow thrown at her head and making her way out.

Normally, her morning's were full. Preparing Veronica, castle duties, waiting on either the princess or the queen. Then the afternoon was spent with Heather and Mac, doing whatever they could in the gardens as an excuse to walk with Martha and Veronica. Her day was a comfortable routine, but she liked it. 

Except some days, days like today, the routine was broken. Heather was being pampered and sleeping after her night in the rain - though how she managed to secure royal bathing treatments H had no idea. Mac was...somewhere. She didn't entirely know, but she could take a good guess.

It was two years ago that she first found out, and she still hadn't come clean. H didn't know how.

It had been a morning of abnormality, because Heather and Veronica were preparing for a trip to a Southern Noble, so everything was chaos. H didn't like the quiet, the absence of doing anything. It let bad thoughts in.

So she'd been walking through the back gardens, a place mostly for secret noble hookups and servants, when she'd seen them.

Not out in the open, but not exactly hidden either.

Martha and Mac, sitting on the stone bench, kissing each other.

H was shocked, to say the least. She had no problem with it, but it was just...unexpected.

Or maybe she was just jealous. Jealous that they could be themselves. Martha had known nothing but nobility. Mac's family had served the royals for generations.

But H? She'd started her life as Duke the orphan, Duke the thief who could pass for a man because her hair was matted round a face so obscured by dirt that it was almost impossible to see. It had been her routine.

But then she was Heather the prisoner, saved by the queen, who took pity on a young girl. Brought her into palace life. It had been her new routine. Working in the kitchens, a serving girl.

And then she was H. The handmaiden. The Lady in Waiting. But not the confident, beautiful one. And not the nice, shy one. Just...the one in the middle. And she hadn't liked it, at first, but it was a routine. So she stuck to it.

Because it was better than Duke the orphan and Heather the kitchen wench. 

Except there Martha and Mac were, breaking routine. And she was so jealous, every time she watched them with new context, a knowing eye. 

After all, how many times had she sat at that bench, or sat in her room, and thought about,  _fantasized_ about…

No, she couldn't. She wouldn't ever make the move. Because that would kill the routine, and she had to rise to her pedestal. The only way to do that was to stay normal. 

She would marry a noble, get a big house. A good surname, a legacy. Produce heirs, look pretty. Stay off the streets. Stay in a castle.

But she, she couldn't do that if…

H sighed, leaning back against the stone wall, feeling the emotions well up inside of her.

Because, after all, how many times had she sat on that bench and thought about Heather...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...  
> ...  
> ...
> 
> No, I will not apologise for these ships. @ me, this is a new angle and I want everyone happy and in love.
> 
> But the characters are different in this remember. JD isn't a complete psychopath. Veronica isn't as naivë. Chandler isn't a bitch to her friends and Duke doesn't hate her (hehe it's the opposite) or crave her position. And even though we haven't seen much of them yet, Martha isn't so innocent and McNamara isn't as depressed.
> 
> God forbid these characters be happier, huh?
> 
> I didn't say that bad shit wouldn't happen though. Read those tags. Next update, a light sprinkling of abuse, arranged marriage and revenge plots, plus new exclusive backstory that sticks up a big middle finger to all established Heather's cannon and just runs with it.
> 
> [ say hi :) ](http://scones-and-slushies.tumblr.com/)  
> x


	4. Tell Your Sister That She's Gotta Rise Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do perceive here a divided duty...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been longer than I thought. I missed this story guys. It's really fun to start writing about how JD called Veronica and then realise this is set in medieval times and phones weren't a thing...
> 
> Hey, I only did it, like, twice. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

JD wasn’t ready to be smacked in the face with the stench of the castle markets. It was like being smacked with a dead fish. 

Compared to the colours of Westerburg, Dekanus was like somebody painted a portrait of the market beyond the trees, then dropped it in a puddle and washed all the colour away, leaving a muddy brown and grey that seemed so...vague to his eyes. 

All the people he’d met? Granted, it had been about five (if you included the guards, which I do, because servants have rights too you know), but they had been so  _ alive _ . Those guards would have been executed by now, they just joked around with each other the entire way to the cells. Didn’t spit on his face, didn’t kick his legs out from underneath him - hell, even the handcuffs had barely chafed his wrists. 

And that handmaiden, Heather. Dressed in a blood-red blouse that was soaked by the rain, and therefore slightly see-through (though he hadn’t looked, he had some sense of decorum), she looked like your stereotypical harlot, apart from those wollen trousers. But it was more the way she presented herself, less of a servant and more of a friend, acting as though  _ she _ was the noble one. 

But as much as he was intrigued by Heather, it was the princess herself who had consumed JD’s thoughts as he journeyed home.    


She was beautiful, that was undeniable. Even a fool could see that. But her beauty was made even more apparent by her mind. She was so quick-witted, and noticed everything. He could only imagine how her attitude had gotten her into trouble before. 

And all of it, all of the  _ freedom _ , it was only possible over there. 

But here? In his home? You were trapped. Trapped in your social status, trapped in your house, trapped in your family, trapped by duty. It was as though mind-forged manacles were holding everybody down, preventing a revolution, a rebellion, a fight for the freedom that should be a god-given right. 

JD tried to shake the thought of Westerburg from his mind. It wouldn’t do good to dream of something he could never have.

_ Veronica… _

No, he couldn’t. It would put her in danger, from both their parents. And she didn’t deserve that. 

However much he wished it was possible, JD doubted he would ever see her again. 

Leaving Slushie with a fresh (ish) bale of hay, he climbed the stone steps, hoping to avoid having to come into contact with his father, who most-likely hadn’t even noticed JD’s absence, since he was so wrapped up in war plans. 

And no matter what, he could never let slip where he’s been. That would put everyone in danger. 

But avoiding his father seemed to be impossible, as his entire family were gathered in the throne room, though JD couldn’t read the mood of the room at all. His sister was cowered before the King, resplendent and angry on his iron throne. His mother stood just behind, head bent -

Were his mother's eyes  _ red _ ? 

What the hell was going on? 

JD cleared his throat, but only Bud raised his head, and the smile that he gave made JD shiver. It was the kind of smile that you gave to a victim in your murder den, before you sunk the knife in for the fifth time and listened with glee to the anguished screams…

Sorry, that got really fucking dark for a second. Back to the throne room. 

JD walked forward, standing behind Naomi, though he didn’t dare lean down for fear of how his father's face might change so quickly from a smile to a frown.

“What’s going on, father?” He kept his head bowed low, not meeting Bud’s eyes. That was an unspoken rule.

There were actually five unspoken rules, but they were all as important as each other. If your father is smiling, then call him father. If your father is frowning, then call him sir. Never directly meet your father's eyes. Always side with your father in public. Never treat a traitor, servant or direct enemy with any fraction of kindness in front of your father.

The rest weren't unspoken rules, they were just rules. And nobody broke the rules. Not in his kingdom.

“Perhaps you could instil some sense into the girl, son. Take her back to her rooms.” Bud turned sideways to look at his wife, who shook her hair out to hide her teary eyes, cast a look at JD and Naomi, who was still cowering on the floor, and left through a side door. 

JD knew his mother was strong. But she always, always obeyed his father. 

“Go.” Bud made a move to leave the room (probably to get off on torturing an innocent but that’s just my personal opinion), but Naomi let out some sort of cry and flew to her feet, tears falling from her eyes. 

“Please father!” His sister's voice was breaking, and her hands were curled into fists, shaking at her sides. “You can’t make me do this.”

“Naomi.” JD muttered, seeing the ripple of anger across his father's voice, but she ignored him.

“Haven’t I been obedient? A good daughter? What did I do to -”

Then a hand came flying down and struck Naomi across the face. She let out a cry, but didn’t fall to the floor. 

At least, didn’t fall until JD pushed her down, quickly stepping in between the King and his daughter, trying to calm his rage. “Sir, my sister is surely distressed by whatever just happened here. I’ll take her to her room and calm her down.”

God, he was a pathetic coward. He didn’t even have the strength to meet his father's eyes.

Bud scowled, but left the room. JD breathed a sigh of relief. 

“How could you do that!” Naomi screamed behind him, pulling herself up from the floor. “How can you just agree with fucking everything that he says?”

“Nio, I don’t know what’s going on.” JD caught his sister before she could fall again. “Just come with me to your room, you can explain this -”

“He’s forcing me to get fucking  _ married _ , JD!” She half-yelled, tears beginning to pour once again. “To a forty-something rich man who has an army or whatever! I'm fifteen!” Naomi dug her hands into her hair, pacing round the dais of the throne room. “And when I told him no, because you know, I’m fifteen! He told me that either licked his heels and did everything he fucking wanted, or I go and become a goddamned  _ nun _ !” She turned to JD with fire in her eyes, arms thrown wide into the air. “Do we even have a, what‘s it called, a nunnery?”

JD blinked, pulling himself out of the startled stupor his sister's words had thrown him into. “He wants you to do  _ what _ ?”

“Exactly J.” Naomi looked like she was about to sob. “I… I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“No, you won’t” JD clenched his fists, marching over to the window. It was evening, so all the guards around the lower back of the castle would be having dinner. And the upper guards would be too busy with the maids on their break to see anyone. “Come on.”

He grabbed Naomi’s hand and pulled her down the stone steps, taking two at a time and never-minding the risk of tripping and breaking both their necks. The castle was like a badly-lit attempt at a maze, but JD knew the way through, and nobody stopped them as he reached the wooden doors of the royal stables. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Naomi blinked up at her brother. “You can’t be thinking that we-”

“No we.” JD interrupted. “Just you.”

He’d thought of the plan as soon as Naomi told him what their father wanted, so by the time they’d reached the stables it was fully-formed in his mind. There was nowhere safe to hide a princess in her own kingdom, especially one with a tyrannical dictator, so she’d have to leave completely. And that left only one place to go. 

He just hoped that he’d be able to find Veronica once they got there. 

“Where the hell am I gonna go?” Naomi exclaimed as JD began to untie Slushie, who was staring at the uneaten barrel of hay with a look of disgust. “I thought you could, I don’t know, chop off pop’s head or something and take the throne.”

“No, I have a better idea. But you have to trust me, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, JD grabbed Naomi by the hips and lifted her onto Slushie’s back. “Just give me a minute.”

He went into the quarters of the stable boy at the back of the stables, ignoring his sisters protests, and scrawled a note onto a random scrap of paper, tucking it into Slushie’s saddle. “You know where to go boy.” He ruffled Slushie’s mane, then turned to Naomi, who looked like she wanted to keep arguing but didn’t know what to say.

“When you get there, find Veronica. You can go to the edge of the market next to the fish-”

“JD, what the hell do you mean?”

He ignored her. “Just show Veronica that letter, she’ll understand. You’ll be safe there.”

“Be safe  _ where _ ?” She threw her arms into the air in exasperation. “Where are you sending me? Who the hell is Veronica?”

JD gave her a smile and tugged at Slushie’s reins. “You’re going to Westerburg, Nio.”

Naomi’s mouth dropped, but before she could speak JD whistled and Slushie galloped off. “Stay safe! I love you!” He called off after them. 

It was only once his sister had vanished from view that he realised what a colossal mistake this might have been. 

JD collapsed against the stable wall, rubbing his forehead with two fingers. Jesus christ, what if they were caught? He’d signed the note JD, and it wouldn’t take a fool to work out who was behind this, plus Naomi was on  _ his _ horse. And it would take Slushie about two days, if he rode fast (which was unlikely, because Slushie would only gallop if somebody was riding him), to get back here, meaning JD had to hide the empty stall. And Naomi was supposed to have conducted this escape plan by herself? 

“Fuck.” JD swore, kicking a barrel of hay. “I’m screwed.”

He kept muttering as he slit the ropes that would normally tie Slushie to the back wall, and smashed the door against the next stall a few times to break the hinges. He’d have to open Naomi’s window too, lock the door and tie some sheets together. 

Probably speak to his father, too, and invent some cock-and-bull story about how he had to lock his sister in her room. Play extra obedient for a few days, but not too much that Bud would start to suspect something. Maybe mention some guards' names offhand, suggest they were close with his sister. 

But at least he knew Naomi would be safe, if she made it to Westerburg. Veronica was the princess, she could pull a few strings. 

Sighing, he made his way back up the tower steps, dragging his boots on the stone as he pulled the key to his sisters room off of the ring he kept in his pocket. 

⭗⭗⭗

“Ok Slushie.” Naomi laid the clothes she’d found in the saddle pouch on the empty cornfield, hands on her hips. “Should we go brown on brown, or maybe throw in this disgusting hat?” She frowned. “Why does JD even  _ have _ serving clothes in his bag?”

She’d been the only one to notice that her brother had been missing for a night, because she was probably the only person who saw him on a daily basis. But she’d thought maybe he’d gotten lost in the woods, or just “hunted” (we don’t support animal cruelty here and neither does JD friends) for as long as possible to avoid coming home. 

It wasn’t like Naomi could blame him. 

But no, he’d been in  _ Westerburg _ ? Maybe? Somehow? And who the fuck was Veronica? How was she even meant to find one girl in a kingdom of strangers?

She’d read the letter on the journey, but it was short and fairly fucking personal. Except… JD didn’t really have friends, so how the hell did he know some girl from the enemy kingdom? 

“My brain hurts, Slushie.” She patted the horse's flank and pulled on the brown cloak, because there was no way she was wearing that hat. “I wish you could talk; you could spill my brother's secrets.”

Slushie snorted. 

“Alright then. Find the fish, that’s what he said right? And there’s some door?” Naomi pulled the note out of her pocket and read it once more. “Ok, and you should probably go back. I know he probably wants you to stick with me until I find Veronica, but pops will search the stables as soon as he knows I’m missing, so off you go.” 

Slushie nosed Naomi’s shoulder, then trotted off back into the woods. 

“And go a bit fast, okay?” She yelled after the retreating horse, cupping her hands over her mouth.

⭗⭗⭗

Veronica was bored. 

That was an everyday occurrence, but after the market and the sleepless night she’d had, the boredom was threatening to spill out of her. 

Normally, Heather or H or Mac or Martha or even an older courtier who could play chess would be there to distract her. But they’d all been pulled away to serve at some noble dinner for her father, and Martha was off with her mother shopping, or something. Veronica couldn’t remember. 

If she was being honest, she just missed JD. 

Which sounded weird as hell - they’d only been in the same place for less than a day. But the way he spoke about things…

It was like when she first met Heather. A beautiful but intelligent blonde, who always spoke her mind and would bitch-slap anybody who spoke ill about her friends. Veronica envied that freedom, she craved it. But open rebellion wasn’t her style. And she did like her parents, most of the time. She didn’t want to cause a scandal for them. 

JD, however. A foreigner, and a hot one at that. Somebody  _ new _ . Somebody  _ different _ . 

She wanted that in her life. She wanted  _ mystery _ . Adventure. Not just a day-to-day routine that never changed. 

But it seemed like that was impossible.

(Boy, was she wrong.)

⭗⭗⭗

“Fish...where are the fucking fish?” Naomi muttered, slipping through a group of teenagers to wander once again round the circular market. 

It was so bright here, she kind of hated it. It was better than Dekanus, sure, but it was like everybody had a different colour that they  _ had _ to wear. She felt like somebody had gone to an all-you-can-eat buffet - something she’d only ever read about - for rainbows, then puked their guts out. 

And there were so many people, she felt claustrophobic. 

Naomi spotted somebody in a muted brown leaning against a wall and made her way over. It was an old man, with no hair and thick bushy eyebrows pulled into a frown. Normally she was against talking to people in general (or asking for help), but this was an abnormal situation. 

“Excuse me sir?” The old man frowned down at her. “Where can I find the, erm, fish?”

He pointed a wrinkled finger in the direction of some plump old woman in purple, who, as Naomi approached, smelt more and more like tuna. 

She’d only tried tuna once, when she was ten. There had been a visiting noble with money and lands near the river that her father wanted, but she hadn’t been allowed into the dinner and was trying to sneak into the kitchens through a window. She failed, slipped and scraped her knee. One of the nobleman’s servants had been walking nearby, heard her crying and gave her his tuna sandwich whilst he bandaged her knee. 

It was a nice memory. Naomi didn’t really have many of them.

She stood behind a very tall man who suspiciously smelt very strongly of sausages (that’s a tongue twister for you) and slowly inched over to the wall, spying an iron padlock hidden behind a curtain of vines. 

It was rusted, and locked, but easy enough to pick open with a hairpin she found lying under her boot. 

⭗⭗⭗

  
  


Veronica found herself back in the rose gardens, leaning against the fountain with her back to the door JD had escaped through last night. 

She still didn’t know where he was from. 

And they’d probably never meet again, which bummed her out more than she cared to admit.

God, it was pathetic, but she hadn't been able to stop thinking about -

Veronica nearly screamed when the metal gate creaked open behind her and a figure in a brown cloak fell through. 

“JD?” She couldn’t stop it slipping out, but the person who stood up was wearing the same boots. 

Except...they were in a dress. With auburn curls and blue eyes. 

“Erm, nope, not JD.” The intruder said in the same accent as JD’s. “From the same place, though. And you’re close, I’m his sister.”

Veronica blinked and took a tentative step back. The intruder spread her arms out in what Veronica assumed was meant to be a non-threatening gesture. “Look, I’m gonna assume you’re Veronica?”

Veronica nodded slowly. 

“That’s good then.” The stranger threw the cloak over her shoulder. She looked young, and didn’t look like JD at all, but they were in the same boots…

“JD sent me here. I assume you guys are friends. I...I need your help. My name is Naomi.”

⭗⭗⭗

_ Dear Ronnie, _

_ I’m writing this bit because I both mean it and also want you to know this is from me: _

_ I know you’re a princess because I heard the guards talking when they locked me in the cell. And I thought it would be the last time we ever spoke, so I figured I should get a good line in before I went through that door _

_ This is Naomi, my sister. She (we really) need your help. Can you please find her a place to stay? She can explain everything else to you.  _

_ Sorry I didn’t tell you who I was. I didn’t want you to judge me, but I guess you know now. Please don’t think harshly of me just because of my father. I’m trying to get my sister and my mum out (it’s more of a dream than a real plan) so we can escape. He’s a tyrant. And he’s never been a real father to me. _

_ Maybe I’ll see you again, _

_ JD _

Veronica leant against her headboard, reading the letter for the tenth time. 

JD…

Or Prince Jason Dead. Of Dekanus. They called him the Hunter in the markets, apparently. And he was meant to be just as evil as his father. With no soul and no mercy. 

It didn’t add up.

The boy she knew couldn’t be the prince of her enemy kingdom. 

And Naomi hadn’t exactly done a good job of explaining. 

As if on cue, the daughter of her kingdom’s enemy emerged from the closet, now dressed in a pale blue gown that went down to her thighs. She tossed her curls over her shoulder and sat down on the bed, facing Veronica. 

“JD doesn’t look like you.” Veronica blurted out. Naomi raised an eyebrow. “Or your father. Or your mother. Or even the portrait we have of him.”

“I know. He has black hair and brown eyes, right? But we’re all brown or blonde, or in my case a mix, and we all have blue eyes. My father had the portrait edited to make his son seem more legitimate.” Naomi shrugged. “Personally, I believe that JD is my dad’s son, but I don’t know about him being my mamma's. I wouldn’t put it past our family.”

“Can you give me a proper explanation as to why you’re here? Please.” She didn't understand anything that was going on right now.

Part of her - no, most of her, practically all of her - wished that JD was here instead of his sister. But Veronica still felt slightly betrayed. 

She didn’t hate him, though. 

“Ok. Let me just, I don’t know, tell you everything all at once and maybe we can test you after.” Naomi smirked - even her smirk was different from JD’s - and stood up, ruffling the hem of her dress. 

“So, my father. His Royal Highness Bud Dean, a dictator. Controls everything and everyone, and I mean it. You put one toe out of line and you’re being hung by that toe in the dungeons. Or executed. My mother. Queen Cephy, a pushover. Well, ok that’s mean, she’s just afraid. She’s been married to Bud for a long time - I’m surprised he doesn’t hit her in public but I know he does in private. Cheats on her, too. Anyway. My brother, Jason. Or JD, or whatever. I know the rumours about him,” At this Naomi stopped, staring Veronica dead in the face. “But they’re all lies. He’s really, really nice - I mean he sent me all the way here on his horse in his cloak with a letter in his handwriting signed in his name, all fairly incriminating stuff plus he was  _ literally _ the last person to see me. But he did it because he cares and he wants you to trust me. And him.”

Naomi started pacing. “And then there’s me. The accident. Even though I look like the perfect combination of my parents, my father hates me. He controls everything I do, and I just kind of went along with it. But then yesterday, when JD was gone, he ordered me to either get married to a forty-something rich man - did I mention I’m fifteen? - or go and become a nun. And if I’d refused both, I guess I would have been dead. So here I am.” 

Veronica shook her head slightly, trying to take it all in.

“He...forced you into marriage? So you...came here?”

“Yes. To hide. I don’t want to have children by this time next year thank you very much.”

“Children by next year!” Veronica flew up off of the bed, hands hanging loosely at her sides because she didn’t really know what to do with them. Yes, she too had suitors, and would probably be married off one day. 

But she was  _ seventeen _ . And the only child. And she would only be married off so that her father could declare an male heir - and if she was being honest, her parents would give her some say in the matter. 

“Ok, yeah, you can stay here.” Naomi looked relieved, but also strangely calm. Like she wasn’t really worried about...any of this. 

“Can I ask you a question?” The princess cocked her head, sitting back down at the edge of the blankets, sinking into a pile of cushions. Veronica shrugged.

“I know my brother.”

“That’s not really a question.”

“If you let me finish it would be. I know my brother, and I know he doesn’t make friends. So how the hell are you, the princess who should be his enemy, his friend?”

Veronica sat back down, twisting her hands in her lap. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends…”  But she was cut off by the door swinging open, bringing folds of bright yellow cloth tumbling into the room.

“Ronnie!” Mac grinned, untucking her black blouse from the belt that held up her flowing sun-coloured skirt. “I got your - oh. Hello.” 

Mac was still smiling, but Veronica could see the question behind her eyes. 

“So let me just tell it straight.” Veronica walked over to the door and slammed it shut, pushing Mac down onto the bed and beginning to pace herself. “This is Princess Naomi.”

“Of  _ Dekanus _ ?” Mac jumped back against the headboard in shock. Veronica rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so naive, they’re people too. She’s really nice. But anyway. Yesterday I snuck out into market - please don’t interrupt me. I snuck out into market with Heather’s help and met a boy and spent the afternoon with him and later, again with Heather’s help, got him out of the dungeons and sent him home only to have Naomi show up today telling me that the boy was JD, aka Prince Jason, and he’s actually really nice too and now I need to help Naomi hide can I use your house?”

Veronica collapsed onto the bed, trying to catch her breath. She didn’t think she’d ever spoken so many words at once so fast. 

“Oh and did I mention I’m here because my father is trying to force me, a fifteen year old, to marry a forty year old so I can have at least one child by this time next year.” Naomi added.

Mac’s expression went straight from confusion to horror and sympathy as she reached across the bed to grab Naomi’s hands. “Oh. My. God. How could a father do that to somebody?” She turned around to meet Veronica’s eyes. “Of course you can use my house!”

Naomi looked extremely uncomfortable but too embarrassed to let go. 

“Right, now that’s sorted. Come on, we can use the garden exit into market, and I’ll tell the dragon that you want to experiment with eyeshadow or something.” V

“The Dragon is Veronica’s tutor.” Mac whispered into Naomi’s ear as they followed Veronica out of the door.

“Right..” Naomi didn’t really understand what was going on, but she decided that following the way-too-happy handmaiden and smarter-than-she-looked princess was the best option for now.

They made their way into the rose garden, but before they rounded the corner Veronica heard something metal slam. 

She froze. 

“Why are we stopping?” Mac was probably attempting to whisper, but that girl was just too damn loud. 

“That’s the gate?” Naomi actually whispered back. “I thought it was some kind of secret…”

“It is.” Veronica tried to peek round the stone without being seen. “I suppose it could be Heather.”

“Why can’t we just tell Heather then? She’s good at keeping secrets.”

“No, she was all for helping me sneak JD out, but this is different. And you’re the only one who actually  _ has _ parents, Mac. So it’s best we just keep this as secret as possible.”

“So I can’t-”

“No you can’t tell Martha.”

“Veronica I’m sure that I can at least tell-”

“Oh. My god.” Naomi interrupted. “Mac, or whatever your name is, go and look round the stone wall. Come back if there’s somebody there, say something along the lines of I was just going for a walk before I went to meet Veronica if there is somebody. We can head back up to Veronica’s room if that’s the case.”

Naomi rolled her eyes. Veronica was low-key impressed. 

“It’s fine.” Mac stuck her head back round the corner after a few seconds. “Come on. It might have been the wind.”

When they reached the gate, Mac went straight through, probably starting up a conversation with the merchant on the other side, but Naomi paused for a second. 

“I suppose there’s no point asking for that letter back?” She asked. 

Veronica halted. “I, erm, I mean…”

The princess’ face broke into a grin that stretched from her pink lips to her blue eyes. “I’m messing with you.” She turned to follow Mac, but tilted her head slightly. 

“Oh and Veronica? I don’t know you that well, but since my brother obviously cares about you, I guess I can trust you.”

Then the metal slammed against the stone, and Veronica was left alone once more. 

⭗⭗⭗

Heather twirled the vines that cloaked the grainy walls around her index finger, watching Veronica head back into the palace. 

Well. It was nice to know that she was trusted with her best friends biggest secret. 

Even if Veronica hadn’t, Heather had recognised that auburn hair the moment she saw it. 

That was Naomi. The princess of the enemy kingdom. And based on the conversation she’d overheard, crouching behind the rose bushes, the man she herself had helped escape last night was none other than the Hunter himself, Prince Jason the tyrant’s son. 

He really didn’t look like his mother and sister. Or his official portrait. What a scandal. 

And Mac was helping them?  _ Mac _ ? Really Veronica? Of all the stupid people to trust with a secret you could be executed over (because yeah harbouring the enemy is high treason and people still get hung for that apparently) Heather couldn’t believe it was  _ Mac _ that Veronica chose. The nice one. The gullible one. The naive one. The stupid one. The lesbian one who couldn’t even hide her relationship that well. 

Sure, she had a family, but did Veronica care to ask the person who’d grown up in a street gang? Or even H, who, for all her flaws, had been a child thief. They both knew more than a few hiding places. 

Veronica was fairly naive, if Heather was being brutally honest. She was clever, and she did notice things, but once she had a sound idea then she would just go for it without considering any other option. 

Heather could pretend all she wanted that she wasn’t annoyed at being left out, but the truth is she was. Mac and Martha were always together. Veronica was always swept up in some royal affair or whatever. H was so focused on rising through the ranks that she never stopped to try and enjoy things. 

Everybody abandoned her, eventually. She got used to it. Grew a thick skin. After all, she was an illegitimate child. Born out of wedlock and abandoned by her parents.

Her parents who then married, as Heather watched from the shadows with her new family, and then had another beautiful, blonde baby girl. A girl who was thrust into the family trade of caring for the royal family.

It was why she’d chosen the name Heather, after all. To mimic her sister, because children that get abandoned aren’t always named. 

Heather as a private joke. Chandler as a way to remember the head of her street gang.

But now she was friends with that very same sister. The sister that lived in what should have been Heather’s life. The very same sister was now smuggling an enemy of the state _ to live in her parents attic.  _

Heather liked ideas, schemes. Preferably the ones that got people hurt in the process, never too painfully, but just enough to make her smile. 

This plan? This could mean death, if she revealed what the McNamara’s - what her  _ parents  _ were hiding.

What bitter irony. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...  
> ...  
> ...
> 
> Like I said, middle finger to Heather's canon. To borrow a quote from Vespasian, 'I believe I am becoming a God'. At least in this story. 
> 
> This power is fun. I could make anything happen...
> 
> *evil music in the background*
> 
> Anyway, next chapter is a bit shorter, waaaaay more romantic (I'm looking over my plan and did I just decide to shoehorn every love confession possible in there? What was my thought process? Did I stay up too late reading trash romance...which I never do!) and also very very very gay. 
> 
> Very gay.
> 
> [ say hi :) ](http://scones-and-slushies.tumblr.com/)  
> x


	5. There Is Nothing Can Console Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it be love indeed, tell me how much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something to say that's actually important:
> 
> There will be a couple (like three/four) new characters introduced along the way that didn't appear in the character list, because they either existed in flashbacks and are now gone forever (unless we get a zombie apocalypse but I ain't writing Pride and Prejudice and Zombies here), it would be spoiler, or they're not that important. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter that should have been published on valentines because by god there's too much romance. Even Cupid would be puking:

He missed her more than his sister and felt like a fool for it.

His mother had told him a story, once, when he was younger and couldn’t sleep at night. It was the only story she’d ever told him, and probably the most motherly thing she’d ever done. It spoke of a girl, who was desired by only one man, a beggar. But the girl was rich, and she never saw the beggar from her golden carriage, so could not fall in love with him. The girl was beautiful, but had an older sister who far outshone her in everything she did. The sister was vain and cruel, but the favourite of her parents. A ball was thrown to find the sister a wealthy suitor, for there were many who desired her hand and so her parents sought to pick the richest, but the younger sister was not invited, for it was believed that she might bring shame and the older sister did not want to be outshone, and so dressed in plain clothes and danced to the music in the gardens, happy in her solitude. The beggar managed to sneak into the ball, disguised as a handsome prince, and danced with the older sister as he tried to find his one true love in the crowd. The older sister declared that she would take the beggar for her husband, believing him to be wealthy, but the beggar had vanished, searching for the younger sister. He came across her in the gardens, dancing to the music, and was so besotted by her beauty that he just stood and watched. When the girl opened her eyes, she saw him there, but instead of being scared, fell instantly in love with his kind eyes. She heard the commotion in the palace, and for the first time in her life, felt no fear for her status as she and the beggar ran away across the roads, hand in hand to live happily ever after together. 

It took me so long to find that story. My god. These books are so dusty; we really should find a better cleaner. 

Sorry, back to JD. 

He’d liked the story when he was a kid because children believe in dreams and happy endings. But as he grew up, he stopped believing in fairytale shit like love at first sight and once upon a time. Everything was so convenient in those stories, like, if that had been his sister, she wouldn’t have been left to dance in the gardens - his dad would have locked her up. And that beggar would never have been able to get into the palace. 

Plus, they were always so brief. The heroes never had any flaws, the siblings were always ugly or cruel or both, and the parents either had massive roles or were just killed off for no reason. Like that story his sister liked, that she’d found in a picture book buried on dusty shelves and hidden behind old war documents. Why Naomi explored the library so much he would never understand. 

It was the one with Ella, who lost a glass slipper on the stairs. JD could imagine that it was probably famous in Westerburg. That stepmother, she’d had a massive role. To be honest, he liked her best. Ella was a total doormat - nice and kind doesn’t mean let yourself be abused. But whatever. The mother, she’d just dropped dead out of nowhere. The death of the father was plausible at least, but the mother? Had she just dropped dead of too much happiness? 

JD knew that he wasn’t in love with Veronica. He liked her, completely and totally. Wanted to kiss her. All of that. But he didn’t love her. 

So it bothered him that she was what he missed, even as Bud raged and his mother cried and there was no smile from Naomi to get him through the day. 

Maybe he just wanted the fairytales to be real. To have his life wrapped up in a whopping one paragraph, then his death just happens as a cruel god snaps his fingers and laughs at the misfortune he can bring. 

JD slammed his fist against the glass windows of his room, trying to get his brain under control. He kept having moments like this; where his thoughts would just spiral out of control. 

Normally there would be something to keep him grounded. But his father had gone silent, spending hours in the war room with his ‘advisers’ (dictatorship remember), and his mother was distraught about the loss of Naomi. They’d been closer than he realised. But he couldn’t tell her anything. 

Telling anybody anything, in a kingdom where walls had ears, was like tying the noose yourself. 

There was a knock at his door.

The Queen stood there, hands clasped and head bowed. 

That was weird. She always just hugged him - distantly, to be sure, but she hugged him. Acted somewhat like a mother. Called him that stupid nickname. 

“Jason.” She said, and it was then he saw the guards standing behind her. 

At least...he thought they were guards. He’d never seen them before, and everybody in the royal castle was white, because add racism to the list of fantastic traits his father possessed. These two, though, were dark-skinned, and definitely looked foreign. One had an ugly scar running across his face. JD would have remembered seeing that. 

“Erm, what’s going on?” He leant against the door-frame, trying to pull the top of his white tunic closed. 

“You are to accompany these men into the war room. They will be your bodyguards from now on.” He could see his mother's hand twitching, but she just stepped aside and went down the stairs. 

So he got bodyguards, but she didn’t?

“Right then.” He grabbed the sword off of his cabinet and started down the stairs, conscious of the fact that he could smell spices on the mens breath. Had they never heard of personal space? 

“I...Do you have names?” JD tried not to stammer, but it didn’t matter, because they just looked straight ahead and didn’t reply. Maybe they had orders. Or maybe they couldn’t speak-

“My name is Mccord.” One of the men replied. The other - the one with the scar - grunted. Probably in disapproval. 

“Well, hello Mccord. Can you, erm, tell me what’s going on?” 

“Your father will explain.”

That was Scar. So he spoke English? But refused to give names? JD just sighed and knocked on the bronze doors. 

“Ah, my son.” Bud gave that terrifying smile (I won’t go dark this time don’t worry) that had to have been practised. “Take a seat.”

That was Count Gowan. JD sat next to him. He didn’t really have a role, but he was rich, so that and his entitled aristocratic family earned him a place at the table. He recognised a coupe other faces: Courtney and Keith Country, they were rich too, and General Peter Dawson. But the rest were all strangers, and they looked exactly like Mccord and Scar. 

Obviously without the scar. They weren’t all mutilated. 

Though one did have an eye-patch, and JD had no desire to take a look underneath. 

“Mccord and Milner will be your bodyguards.” So his name was Milner? JD preferred Scar. “Expect to see them everywhere. They’ll stay outside your room.”

Did they sleep? Or were they going to just stand there all night? 

“But that’s not the reason I called you here.” Bud pushed a picture and map over the table. 

JD barely reacted in time. 

The picture was of the market and palace in Westerburg. He very nearly let recognition onto his face. But he’d never seen the map before. 

It was a palace. 

The Westerburg palace? 

Using that map, he could get into the royal bedroom and stab the king and queen. Organise an invasion using sewer passages. Steal from the treasury. 

“How...how did you get this?” The map and portrait were labelled, so he didn’t need to act confused. And the drawing was extremely accurate, so he could trust the map to be too. 

“There are spies everywhere, Jason. I wouldn’t want to expose myself.” But JD got the meaning behind his words. 

Spies. Spies from Dekanus in Westerburg, clearly high-up since they got the castle plans. 

He had to warn Veronica -

Wait, what? 

“But we can use these maps. Or  _ you _ can use these maps, Jason.”

He blinked, forgetting the rules and staring straight into his father's eyes. 

“Jason, you will journey to Westerburg and stay in the house of a sympathiser, Father Ripper, who will be rewarded handsomely once we take the kingdom. Scope out the market. Find a way into the palace. And collect information. A messenger will arrive once a week; send back everything you know with him.”

What?

Was he serious? 

How... how did this happen? 

JD couldn’t pretend not to be happy about this. He could find Naomi. See Veronica. And he’d get to pick a side, but despite constantly telling himself that he hadn’t made a decision, JD knew who he’d fight for. He just had to hope it was the right choice, because now there was no time. No time to make a plan. No time to try and get his mother out. No time to start fighting. 

⭗⭗⭗

The rest of the meeting flashed by, because JD spent most of it in a haze, trying to sort through his thoughts and make some kind of plan. 

His first step would be to find Naomi. Make sure they could meet secretly. If his plan had worked, she would have much easier access to Veronica. He didn’t know where she would be hiding, but he could find out. They’d have to meet secretly, because Bud would no doubt have spies in the market. 

Then he had to meet with Veronica. Secretly. Somehow he would get her a letter. She had to be warned, because he’d chosen her side. Naomi could tell her, or he could try and find Heather. She was a handmaiden, she had to go into market occasionally. They were the only two he could trust, because they were the only two he knew to be close to Veronica. Hopefully he’d be able to find Naomi, because Heather would undoubtedly read the note. 

But that was fine. He could deal with that. 

He had to find out who the spies were, preferably before he met Veronica. He knew she could be clever. She could weed them out, expose them to her parents. And by the time Bud found out, he’d be long gone. 

JD only realised everybody had left when his father coughed. 

“My apologies, sir. I was deep in thought.” His father chuckled. It was terrifying. “Should I go?”

“No, one moment. Your bodyguards are waiting right outside.”

His father beckoned JD over with a ringed index finger. “But what I tell you must remain absolutely confidential. If your guards ask, say you don’t know. If the court asks, you don’t know. If the Father asks, you don’t know. If you’re captured and tortured, you don’t know. You  _ die _ before you reveal this information.”

Nice to know that his life was valuable - wait. 

Wait a second. 

JD tried to hold in his beating heart. He couldn’t possibly be about to reveal -

“These are our spies.” His father smiled, pushing portraits and portfolios across the table. 

⭗⭗⭗

If she wanted to convict them, she needed evidence. 

So Heather had started a diary. 

Not a real diary, mind you. Why would anybody ever write down their secrets? You’re asking to be blackmailed. 

I share that opinion too, by the way. 

No, Heather’s ‘diary’ was as real as the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Filled with politically correct ideas and just enough sass that it seemed plausible. 

She had also charmed a page into granting her passage to the royal archives, allowing her to burn some unimportant manuscripts and claim a filing system for her ‘old diaries’. 

Heather had been thorough. She’d been prepared. Revenge is a dish best served cold, but nobody needed to know how much she’d set up from behind the scenes. 

If she was weaker, she might use blackmail as a way to meet her parents and have them see her. Then she could start to like them and keep the secret and they’d all live like one big happy family. Maybe she could get a pet unicorn whilst she was at it. 

And if she was  _ perfect _ and  _ rich _ and  _ nice _ , like Martha or Mac, then she wouldn’t do anything. 

But she wasn’t weak, or nice. 

Whose fault was that?

Heather didn’t have anything against Naomi. After overhearing certain things, and sneaking a look at that letter, she understood what Dekanus was like. 

But to be honest, she kind of wanted to go. 

It was unspoken, and she would never directly admit it to herself. Because the place was clearly racist and entitled and under a tyrannical rule. 

Except...if  _ you _ had the power, then there was nobody to stop you. You could hang everyone who ever hurt you. Punish relentlessly. Here, she was trapped by expectation. There, she could become a demon queen. 

But Heather wasn’t one to dream recklessly. 

So she just made her way through the market towards the house that should have been hers. 

The sun was shining through a cloudless sky, and Heather, despite herself, started whistling as she darted between stalls. 

And then the hand came down firm on her wrist. 

⭗⭗⭗

JD couldn’t quite believe his luck. 

He’d just been walking through the market when he saw her. Heather. Blonde curls flying in the wind and all. 

But she slapped him in the face when he grabbed her arm. 

“Fucking corn nuts!” She screamed when she realised who it was, and slapped him again. 

For the record, I know I said I had to invent some of this dialogue, but I have it on record this is  _ actually _ what she said. 

“Ow.” JD said drily, rubbing his cheek. 

Heather sneered at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I thought you were a handmaiden. That’s terrible language.”

“Prince. Jason.” Heather hissed through gritted teeth. “What the  _ fuck _ are you doing here?”

His eyebrows shot up and he grabbed her wrist again. There was no way she knew who he was unless -

“Where’s my sister?”

“You who?” If this kid actually expected her to tell him that, he was as dumb as he looked. “Maybe back in the  _ enemy _ kingdom. Where you should be.”

Oh shit. He’d fucked up. 

“How...how do you know who I am?”

“Logic. Your boots and your clothes. Your accent. Believe it or not, I’m quite smart. Plus, I’ve seen your portrait.”

Heather rarely lied so flimsily, but she pursed her lips and didn’t flinch under his gaze. 

JD raised his eyebrows. He’d tried to hide his accent, and he didn’t look like his portrait. She had to be lying. 

But she wasn’t the spy. He knew who they were…

Unless his father had lied? 

But what would be the point of that? 

He really had wanted to find his sister. But there were more guards than ever in the market, probably due to Veronica’s excursions, and he couldn’t risk being caught. He’d be executed. 

“Look, we might not like each other-”

“Huh, wow, you figured that out. Maybe you’re-”

“Please just give this to Veronica.” He interrupted, holding out the letter. Heather giggled. Then laughed. Louder than he’d ever heard anybody laugh. 

“Oh. My.  _ God _ . You’re writing love letters now?” She chuckled, opening the letter like he knew she would do. 

“Fine.” Heather sniffed, then looked around and shoved JD further into the shadows. “But you owe me for this, so for god's sake,  _ don’t get caught _ .” Then she slipped through the gap in stalls and vanished into the sun. 

JD wanted to follow her, find out why she was lying, but there was no time. 

⭗⭗⭗

“Read it read it read it!” Mac gushed, shuffling over to try and look over Veronica’s shoulder. “You can’t hurt me like this!”

Veronica laughed, looking over the letter again. She hadn’t really believed Heather, at first, but before she could ask questions her handmaiden had vanished again, disappearing just as Mac entered her room. 

By all rights, she should have kept the letter there, but the orchard was enclosed and nobody had stopped them. 

“You read it, if you’re so inclined.” Veronica handed over the paper - she’d already read it five times over and was fully prepared to commit it entirely to memory.

“Dear Ronnie.” Mac squealed, pacing backwards and forwards as she read. “I need to meet you, see you again, - oh my god he misses you V - can you find me later tonight in the woods? I’ll understand if you can’t get out of the castle, but please try. I need to tell you something that can’t be written down, can’t be traced back to you. You could be in danger. Oh, I thought he was going to say I love you…”

“Mac, I’ve spent barely a day with him.”

“Whatever. Anyway. Boring boring route stuff, perfunctory questions about his sister - she’s fine by the way, our attic is quite big so my parents don’t even know - oh here we go!” Mac squealed again. “I realise what we’re doing is so stupid, because obviously by now you know who I am. And I get if you hate me. But please don’t listen to what they say about me, that’s all my father. Everything I said was true. And aside from what I need to tell you, and I know this might sound so cringe and stupid, I really need to see you again - oh my god Veronica you’re blushing!”

“Because this is meant to be private.”

“I’m your friend! Oh my god this gets even better! I really, really hope you can make it. This is chaotic, I know, but chaos can kill beasts, right? Yours, JD - Veronica he ended it with  _ yours _ !”

“I imagine he just ran out of time.” Veronica stood up and tried to grab the letter back, but Mac was holding it to her chest. “ I only showed you because you interrupted me reading it.”

Mac pouted. “Veronica, do you understand how big this is? This is a proper love story!”

“It’s not a love story-”

“What’s a love story?” Kurt leered through the trees, leering. Veronica and Mac stepped back in shock. 

“Oh...it’s nothing really…” Mac’s voice trailed off; she’d never been a good liar. 

“What’s this?” Ram suddenly appeared behind her, grabbing the letter from her hands. 

“Give it back. By my orders.” Veronica’s voice was ice cold as she held out her hand. They wouldn’t dare disobey her. 

“So secretive.” Ram snickered, opening it up. Veronica’s eyes widened and Mac grabbed at him. “No!”

But he passed the letter over their heads to Kurt, who started to read it aloud. 

God, he could read? Veronica wasn’t expecting that. 

“Jesus christ.” Kurt whispered in a hushed tone, looking up at her through eyes that were suddenly filled with something that looked intelligent. “What the hell is this?”

Ram frowned and sat down next to him, snatching the paper. His jaw fell open. 

Veronica and Mac looked at each other with wide eyes, both stepping back into the trees. 

They couldn’t have figured anything out. JD only used his sister’s name. And they were as thick as two short planks, they couldn’t possibly have…

“Dekanus?” Ram’s eyes met her own, both fearful but for entirely different reasons. 

Oh god. They were smarter than she’d thought. 

But why would they be dumbing themselves down to her, especially if they were suitors? 

Then Kurt laughed. Mac gulped next to her, sounding shocked. 

“Christ, look at you.” His face was bright red, and Ram was laughing too, holding his stomach. “You look so fucking scared girl!”

“You just got a lot more interesting, princess.” Ram added, still holding his stomach and chuckling as he stood. 

Veronica didn’t know what to do with any part of her body. Gasp like Mac was? Wave her hands? Raise her eyebrows? Shake her head from side to side? Pinch her arm, because she had to be in some kind of daydream. 

She decided on a tentative step forward. 

“You’re...you’re not-”

“Running to tell the nearest guard that you’re in a relationship with the Prince of Dekanus, our sworn enemy?” Ram laughed. “Nah bitch. We’ve all got secrets.”

“Like what?” Mac seemed to have regained her confidence. “That you two are much smarter than anybody gave you credit for?”

The two boys looked at each other, then Kurt grabbed Ram by the chin and kissed him. 

Was it possible to physically die of shock? Because Veronica felt like she was about to collapse. 

“I...I - I…” At least Mac felt the same, since she had apparently lost the ability to form coherent sentences. 

“Fuck me.” Veronica collapsed onto the bench, snatching the letter back from Ram as she sat down. “This is insane.”

“Aren’t you with that noble girl-”

“Yeah, no, you might break her.” Veronica tugged at Kurt’s arm to stop him. “But this does prove that you two are really bad at keeping it a secret.”

That snapped Mac out of her daze. “Wait, you know?”

“Jesus love, everyone knows.”

“Even Heather and H?”

“It was H that told me.”

“Who are they talking about?” Kurt whispered to Ram, who shrugged despite his smile. 

Veronica waved her arms in the air. “Anyway, anyway.” She stood up and stared Ram down. “Why are you two my suitors despite all...this.”

They both shuffled their feet and looked at the floor. Veronica cast another look at Mac, this time one of suspicion. 

“Erm, money.” Ram stuttered. 

They weren’t stupid, so they were clearly hiding something. 

“Our patron is giving his entire estate to his newly-discovered nephew.” Kurt sounded like he’d rehearsed this, but Veronica figured that they were allowed their secrets if they kept hers. “We figured that we’d tell you once one of us got married to you, then let you hoe around, or whatever.”

“ _ Hoe around _ ?” Mac said indignantly, her mouth forming a perfect O. 

“Oh, so you figured that you would use me to scapegoat yourselves out of poverty.” Veronica put her hands on her hips and Kurt shuffled closer to Ram. “Did it never occur to you that I might possibly want to  _ marry the person I loved _ one day?”

Ram dug his foot into the ground. “We never said it was a perfect plan.”

“It’s a horrible plan!” Mac swung her arms over Veronica’s shoulders, looking at them in shock. “You can’t go through with it!”

“You won’t be going through with it.” Veronica rolled her eyes. “I’ll get you two onto the royal court, or something.”

Both of the boys' heads snapped up. 

“Really?”

⭗⭗⭗

Heather was going out of the castle again. 

H had been following her for two days now. Every hour she would leave and come back, ignoring all of her duties. She’d got herself into the royal vaults, for some reason. And H had discovered two diaries after a bit of snooping. 

Heather would  _ never _ keep a diary. She never told anybody  _ anything _ , because she had the biggest trust issues H had ever seen. There was no way she would just leave her thoughts lying around. It wasn’t like there were guards for the servants quarters. 

But H had only managed to follow Heather into the middle of market earlier, then she’d lost her. So she went back to the gate, but hadn’t been paying attention and Heather had rushed through, not noticing her, clutching something in her hand. 

H had tried to follow her, but she’d gone up to Veronica’s room, then after a few minutes appeared again, shoving past H and sprinting down the tower steps. 

But H had run after her, almost definitely pulling a muscle and cutting her ankle as she slipped between stalls, following the girl with beautiful golden curls.

Now they were alone, in a village square, and Heather had realised that she was being followed. 

H caught the wrist that went flying through the air towards her face. 

“Oh for fucks sake.” Heather roller her eyes, snatching her hand back. 

“What are you doing, Heather?”

“Ok bitch, let me get this through your head.” Heather shoved her back against the wall of the closest house, pushing them both into the darkness of an alley. “I don’t need you to follow me all the time, ok sweetheart? I don’t have to tell you jack shit about what I’m going to do. Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast? When do I  _ ever _ tell people  _ anything _ .”

H hadn’t been listening. She was too focused on how close they were. 

“I’m...I’m just concerned Heather.”

“Why the hell would you be concerned about me? I know that you’re only our friend for status. You wanna rise to the top, right? Get rich? So stay the hell away from my secrets, okay?”

“That’s not true, Heather.”

Blonde curls flying and a snarl on her face, H was shoved further into the wall as Heather stepped away into the light. “Then why the hell are you here then?”

“Because I fucking love you, okay!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the slightly shorter length and sorry not sorry about that cliffhanger. Hehe. 
> 
> Next chapter has more romance, and also gives a middle finger to that cliffhanger by focusing on Veronica and JD the entire time (wink wink), plus it's pretty short too, but whatever. Doesn't mean you get the spy reveal tho. 
> 
> A little note: whilst writing this I exclusively listened to My Jolly Sailor Bold (you know that song the mermaids sing in Pirates of the Caribbean), leading me to change the chapter title, so you know, go listen to that if you want. And also the fifty shades remix of Crazy in Love. That's amazing. Anyway. 
> 
> [ say hi :) ](http://scones-and-slushies.tumblr.com/)  
> x


	6. To Me, You Are Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love you.  
> Most ardently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy we stan the 2005 pride & prejudice summary I love that movie
> 
> anyway
> 
> romance. get ready ;)

There was something her mother used to say, back when Veronica was a child and excited to explore the world. 

She’d warn her about the monsters in the wood, the  _ beasts _ . Dark and twisty things. She’d say that the night was dark and full of terrors. That you can’t run, you can’t hide from the demons. 

It had all been designed to keep Veronica at home, where she was (and note my heeeavy sarcasm)  _ safe _ . 

Fuck that noise. She hadn’t been scared of the demons. As a child, there had been a character she’d liked, in a story. That character was the beautiful hero’s sister, who ran away and started off the entire tale. The sister had seen the wolves, howling into the night, and been so entranced she’d left the family. Brought dishonour, all so she could run with the wolves and be free. 

Veronica wanted to run with the wolves. She liked taking chances. Following the twilight road into the windy knight. Sharing a kiss in the dance. A rose blooming in the winter. 

But she couldn’t deny that the woods were terrifying. The deeper you go, the darker it gets. Sneaking out of the castle had been easy, with the secret gate. She had to thank Heather for that handy discovery later. And since it was near midnight, there were no vendors in the market, so she’d got to the woods in almost five minutes flat. 

Running, because she was trying to do things quickly, not because she wanted to see JD. 

That was  _ not _ the reason. And screw anybody who said it was. Screw Mac, who had been so excited about the meeting she’d almost told half the castle. Screw Heather, who kept vanishing, and giving her dirty looks when she thought Veronica wasn’t looking. Screw H, who was too scared to act on her feelings. Screw Martha, who always followed the rules. 

Veronica curled her fingers around the nearest branch and pulled herself up into the leaves. She’d never really climbed before, but Heather had taught her how and she’d seen her handmaiden cross the roof of the castle more than she cared to remember, so the principles were fairly easy to grasp. 

Three points of contact at all times. Take it slow as you get higher. Don’t look down, even if you’re not scared of heights, because everybody can get vertigo. Test the branches for weight before you climb onto them.

Easy come, easy go. 

In his letter, JD said to look for the moon, then find the stars next to it that formed a cross in the air. Walk in the direction of the leg that pointed down. Apparently she’d come across a lake soon enough. 

Veronica found the cross easily, but found herself leaning against the tree trunk and staring at the moon. 

Nana Rose had died when Veronica was two. She barely remembered her, and she wasn’t actually her grandmother - she was a senior nurse. But Nana seemed to understand her better than anyone, and she’d loved telling stories. As she was lying in bed, slowly slipping across the veil, she’d written them down. Old fairy-tales, dark tales, original stories and little poems. 

_ Brilliant moon, _

_ Is it true that you too _

_ Must pass in a hurry? _

_ And you were just like the moon, _

_ So lonely, so full of _

_ Imperfections.  _

_ But like the moon,  _

_ You shined in times of  _

_ Darkness _

She’d liked those two the best.

⭗⭗⭗

She wasn’t coming. 

Why the hell would she come? 

JD had been pacing the lake for the better part of an hour. The moon had begun it’s descent, so it was past midnight. And she still wasn’t here.

Clearly, Veronica wasn’t coming. 

He didn’t blame her. She knew who he was now. The enemy. The Hunter (stupid nickname in my opinion; hunters aren’t all that bad). Why would she come?

Maybe she would come, and then soldiers would ambush him, drag him into the dungeons where his stupid plan had probably sent his sister, then execute him or bargain for him and every stupid cruel plan of his fathers would be ruined and they’d torture him and learn who the spies were and torture them too.

Ok. 

Stop panicking. 

Breathe. Just breathe. 

It was routine he’d worked out over the years, when everything became too much. When his sister was gone for too long. When his father was particularly cruel. When his mother refused to be a mother and looked at him like he wasn’t even his son. When he overheard nobles spreading rumours about how he  _ wasn’t _ her son. When the rumours and the lies and the secrets were too much and he’d sit huddled under a blanket shaking like Atlas, trying to hold up the sky all by himself. 

You think through your fear. You analyse it. You make it seem ridiculous. You sit the fuck down and stop pacing - that directive had come from Naomi. He really did miss her. 

So JD sat the fuck down and listened to his fear. Pushed his hands back into the soil and looked into the sky. Maybe Naomi was looking at the same sky. He hoped against hope she _ could  _ look into the sky, and wasn’t locked up in the deepest, darkest dungeon instead. 

Think through your fear. Don’t let it consume you. 

Maybe Veronica wasn’t coming. That was ok. He could deal with that. Rejection was nothing new. Of course, he’d only ever been rejected by his parents or the rich children who’d been too scared to play with him, but it would be fine. He could move past it. Yeah, he’d risked a lot to send her that note. Yeah, the escape out of the window had pulled two muscles and bruised his ribs. But it was fine. 

Maybe she was coming with soldiers. But they would be here by now, in case he left. And he’d hear them coming through the trees. Slushie, tied by rope a few yards away and licking at the water like he was afraid a scaly beat of the deep would emerge to bite off his nose, would hear them coming. JD knew the paths through this forest that led him back to the village; he’d memorised them earlier. Maybe he could get away. Maybe he wouldn’t be executed for high treason and being an enemy then re-animated by his father just to be killed again, except slower this time. 

Or maybe she was coming, and was just taking a while to get to the lake. Maybe she’d misunderstood his directions and  _ left _ at midnight. 

The possibility that he’d see her again made JD happier than he liked to admit. 

Slushie snorted loudly, disrupting the silent water, and he couldn’t help but laugh. This entire situation was so ridiculous. Liek something out of a stupid childrens story. Or an epic tragedy, at the end of which the children of great enemies who’d fallen in love in less time than it took to brush down a horse would die. Either they’d kill themselves or be murdered by a jealous, spurned lover. 

Then something moved in the trees and he had to bite back on his scream. 

Veronica grinned at him, though it looked like a frown, because she was hanging by her ankles from a tree branch. “Hey, you.”

⭗⭗⭗

JD looked shocked to see her. 

He also looked different. 

When she met him in the market, he was wearing peasant clothes. Unassuming clothes. And military boots. Not he still had the boots, but they were dark red. He was wearing a red band around his forearm, stamped with the insignia of the Dekanus royal family. She recognised it from the portraits. 

She probably looked different, too. Her hair was up, twisted back with a golden comb that was real gold and weighed a ton. The trousers she wore were of the finest blue silk, blowing slightly in the breeze, and her top was pearl-studded. 

“Veronica.” His hands were fluttering at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them. It was an oddly familiar gesture. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Here I am.” She smiled, but tried to lean casually back against the tree now she’d dropped to the floor, and promptly fell right on her ass.

They stared at each other for a second, her cheeks going bright red, then both burst into laughter. 

“This is… surprisingly awkward.” JD ran a hand through his hair and leant over to help her up.”

“Well, we are sworn enemies.”

“Indeed. I should run you through with my sword.”

“I must warn you that the points of this comb are very, very sharp.” They both laughed again, sitting side by side on a rock. Veronica slid off her flats and let her toes dip into the cooling water. She liked the ripples they made, spreading so far out that eventually they couldn’t keep it together and had to vanish below the waves. 

“So.” Her voice sounded strained. “Just, erm, so you know, I hate awkward silences.”

“Yeah, me too.” JD turned and smiled at her, but she wished he wouldn’t. It made her think of those thoughts she shouldn’t have been thinking, late at night as the rain fell against the window. 

His hands, scarred and burned, tangled in her hair. Their lips touching. Sharing the same breath. 

“You need to tell me something?” Veronica asked, trying to cut the tension between them. JD visibly stiffened, like he was making a choice. 

Betrayal?

Of her?

Or of his father?

“Yeah, yeah I do.” JD turned to face her, folding his legs and, after a weird moment of hesitation where his hands were just hanging in the air, took her fingers and interlaced his own in them. 

Thank god the moon chose that moment to disappear behind the clouds, so he couldn’t see her blush. 

They must have looked so strange. A girl clearly royalty, or something close to royalty, and a boy who looked like he’d ridden straight from a military camp, holding hands next to a lake, a horse tied to a tree a few yards away, lit only by the many stars shining above them. 

JD took another breath. He was definitely about to tell her something that would bring trouble. Almost without thinking, Veronica rubbed her thumb over his palm in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. 

“There are spies in your court. My father's spies.”

It took Veronica a moment to think through his words. 

Then she dropped his hands and stepped off the rock into the waves. 

“There can’t be. We would see them. We would know. My parents know  _ everybody _ in the court. Their families have worked for us forever.”

In the back of her mind, like a thread of mould working it’s way through the tracks on a tree trunk, Veronica could see Heather slipping out through the gate. Heather the street urchin. With  _ no _ family. 

No no no. There was no way Heather was a spy. She didn’t care enough. 

Veronica couldn’t go accusing her best friend just because of this new weird layer that had formed between them. 

“I’m not lying, Veronica.” JD stood as well, letting the waves wash over his boots. “My father swore to me. Told me all about his plan to get information. He has entire maps of your castle, from the roof to the cellars to the armoury. There was no way to get the information he had without somebody on the inside. I’m telling the truth.”

Veronica could see Heather climbing the roof, showing her secret passages into the cellars. She felt sick. But it couldn’t be Heather.

“And I’m telling you that nobody would betray Westerburg.”

“Well somebody clearly has!” She recoiled, shocked that he’d shouted at her, but even more so at the anger in his eyes. 

JD took a deep breath and sat back down on the rock, rubbing his hands together. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to yell.” Their eyes met, and it was like magic. She didn’t want to look away. “I just want you to trust me.”

Look away, Veronica. Look away before you burn. Before you drown. Before you spend the rest of your life staring at the moon. 

“Do you know who they are?”

JD’s jaw twitched, and she saw his knuckles go whiter. 

⭗⭗⭗

Come on JD. Tell her. Get the words out. 

He couldn’t do it. 

Their faces were swimming in his mind. He had to tell her. She had to know. What difference would it make? He’d already betrayed his home, his father. 

It wasn’t the thought of Bud’s anger that was holding him back. 

His mother's eyes, blue and calm, always calm. His sister, drunk on mead she’d slipped from a soldier, standing at the window and dreaming up so many ways she could make the kingdom better. The stars that looked different from his bedroom window even though they were the same stars he saw now.

The many, many secrets he didn’t know. Was he who he thought he was? Was he really Cephy’s child? Was he even Bud’s child? How did Bud even come to rule? What decimated their kingdom? How does a man let the anger overcome him until they’re not people, they’re numbers in a tax registry?

“I don’t know.” He cast his eyes to the floor, hoping he looked ashamed. “I’m sorry. My father doesn’t tell anybody anything.”

“Sounds just as fucking paranoid as my dad.” Veronica laughed weakly. 

He couldn’t meet her eyes. “There’s two of them that I know of. They might be working together or they might never speak. I’m sorry that I-”

“Hey, JD, it’s fine.” She took his hands again, but he still couldn’t look her in the eyes. “I know your father is a tyrant, but I get how hard this must be. You’re still loyal to your people.”

Oh Veronica, he thought. If only you knew. If only you understood that if I could run and never go home, abandon everyone, I’d take that chance and drag the people I cared about with me. 

Their eyes met again. JD could see stars. Both literally and figuratively. 

Literally because the stars above them were being reflected by her pupils, and figuratively because he never wanted to look away. 

Veronica sighed, then sat back down on the rock, still holding his right hand. “What the hell are we doing?”

“Cavorting with the enemy?”

“Hilarious, but never say  _ cavorting _ again.” Her laughter was one of the best sounds he’d ever heard. You didn’t get much opportunity to laugh in such a carefree way back in Dekanus. 

“I like the stars.” She said after a few minutes, breaking the silence that had fallen between them again. “And the moon. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to look down on everybody. Heather would love it, for all the gossip.”

“And you?”

Veronica’s eyes were the most beautiful stars he’d ever seen. “I guess I’d like the solitude.”

“Distant stars, hold my wishes for you.” She looked at him quizzically. “It was a poem my mother liked to say.”

“That’s nice.” She was smiling, but her eyes were looking at something - or someone - he couldn’t see. “Nobody really likes poems in my castle.”

“Naomi liked to make them up, late at night when she couldn’t sleep.” He couldn’t bring himself to ask, but Veronica seemed to understand anyway.

“Don’t worry. She’s safe. Hidden. Nobody will find her unless I tell them where she is, and I’d never do that.” Veronica smiled again. “Maybe I should start a poetry anthology with her.”

“It would rival the great works of fiction, I’m sure.”

“Steal my words and take them to your heart, but remember me when the stars come out.”

There was something about the way she walked, like she was going slowly on purpose to try and take everything in. She never spoke until she understood. And she  _ did _ understand him. Even though they were supposed to be enemies, Veronica understood how trapped they both were.

“That’s a nice poem.”

“Would you believe that I just came up with it?

“I’d believe pretty much anything you told me.” They were facing each other now, so close he could hear her breathing. 

JD wondered if Veronica would understand the old saying his mother liked so much in the same way he did. 

_ Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all _ .

“I…” Veronica gulped, but she wasn’t afraid of him. He could see that.

He understood her hesitation well. When you were stuck in your own thoughts and suddenly people around you moved and you didn’t know how to catch up. So you stood back and watched but then it was too late, and you’d lost your chance, because it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. 

JD didn’t like losing. 

The air was humming around them with notes he didn’t have the strength to listen to. All the sounds of night had vanished, and his world was shattered but for the two of them, alone by a lake, trying to find the right words.

Her eyes were like magic. There were so many stars. And he wanted to love and lose. 

Then Veronica leant forward and kissed him softly. 

⭗⭗⭗

Veronica didn’t know what she was doing. But she knew she wanted to kiss him like she wanted to breathe. 

This was so stupid. She was talking like a princess out of a fairytale. Like the girl who walked into faeryland, cold and monumental angels enchanting her. 

But his lips were so soft. And his hands were in her hair. And it felt so  _ right _ . It felt so good, it made her teeth hurt. 

_ My dear, our souls met long before our eyes did. You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens. There’s too much risk in loving. Star-crossed lovers. For she had eyes and chose me. My heart is a thousand years old, but now is newly born. A starling takes flight from the depths of my soul. _

_ Teach me to live… give me the strength to try…  _

Don’t stop. Never stop. 

You feel like magic. You taste like freedom. 

So many thoughts, so many things she wanted to say. But she couldn’t stop. She never wanted to stop. 

_ Give it a try, said my heart. Give it a try… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That - 
> 
> Was hard to write. 
> 
> I've never been in love, but I tried my best. Pulled every book with a kiss scene/love confession of my shelf (there were a lot I'm a sucker for romance; I even have one with samurai's). So I hope I did the feeling justice. 
> 
> [ say hi :) ](http://scones-and-slushies.tumblr.com/)  
> x


	7. Serious Daddy Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fine. Make me your villain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be uploaded on friday but i got caught up with stuff, sorry for the delay :)

“Is it dumb that I miss him?”

Mac looked up from the mirror in confusion, hairbrush still twisted up in golden ringlets. “Your brother? No, of course not. You guys were close.”

Naomi swung her legs out of the attic hammock and headed to the window. She’d hooked a duvet up from two pegs in the ceiling as a makeshift bed; it was either that or the hard wooden planks that formed the floor of her new hideaway. 

The McNamara attic was most definitely a downgrade from her old room. Gone were the tapestries and stone walls, replaced by a leaky roof and musty, stained bedsheets. From what she understood, Mac’s family had served the royals for generations. 

And yet Mac still chose to live at home instead of in the castle, and her parents refused to spend money on an extravagant estate. 

It was weird, but certainly better than nothing. 

“No,” Naomi stuck her head out through the open window. The back of the house faced the forest, so she couldn’t be seen, but the trees blocked the moon from her line of sight. “I meant my father.”

She heard the brush drop to the floor behind her. “Your  _ father _ ?” Mac asked indignantly. “Why on earth would you miss your father? He tried to -”

“Sell me? Yeah, I know.” Naomi sighed, tilting her head to try and feel the wind on her cheeks. “I miss the order, though. Knowing exactly what your day would bring because if you disobeyed, you were punished.”

“That doesn’t sound like something I would miss.”

“I don’t really know…”

Mac pulled her back to the mirror, tutting. “Maybe you just miss home. God, your hair is so pretty.”

Naomi raised an eyebrow as she looked at herself. Frizzy curls that she supposed were a nice colour, but she had barely been able to wash herself _once_ these past few days, so there was no time for the royal beauty treatments she’d been used to back home. And sure, her eyes were blue, but they were more like muddy water than anything actually interesting. 

“I meant because it’s thin.” Mac smiled. That girl was always smiling. “That makes it really fun to work with.” 

“I thought you were the makeup person, and Heather did the hair.”

“Well, she’s better at it than me, but I still enjoy styling. It’s not like there’s much else for me to do…”

Naomi twisted round to face her, both kneeling on the floorboards. Hopefully Mac’s parents didn’t hear the creaking, but Mac had assured her that the many boxes and family heirlooms caused noise disturbance every day. “What do you mean, nothing else for you to do?”

Mac’s smile faded slightly. “Well, you know… I’m not that smart. And I’m only really good at makeup.”

“From what I’ve gathered, you’re a pretty good girlfriend.”

Now she looked ashamed. “Well, it’s kind of you to say.”

Naomi stood and fell back onto the hammock, pulling a cushion to her chest. The swaying was actually quite a comfort. “I don’t really understand why you two keep your relationship secret. If you were from Dekanus, I’d get it, but Westerburg seems a lot more accepting.”

“Well, I’m sure my parents would be fine with it.” Mac shuffled her feet, perching on a wooden chest full of manuscripts that were too faded to be legible. Naomi had checked. “But Martha is from a royal family.”

“Ohhh, yeah I get it.” Naomi smirked as she slipped her hands behind her head. “Born to produce heirs.”

“So, I’m sure we’d be ok, eventually - but I don’t want to, well -”

“Bring up the prospect of telling people and then lose Martha completely?”

Mac looked genuinely surprised. “Well… yeah. You’re very good at people, Naomi.”

“That’s what JD used to say.” Naomi smiled, but when she looked out of the window, seeing the smallest strip of indigo sky, all she could think about was how many secrets JD had kept from her. 

Veronica. Westerburg. He was clearly closer to their father than she’d though. What else could he be hiding? His true parentage? The strength of the Dekanus military?

Naomi had always been interested in ruling, unlike her brother. When she was younger, a few seasons ago, it seemed so unfair to her that JD was so involved in the kingdom, but he couldn’t care less; whereas she was blocked from every important decision. 

Now she wondered whether it had all been a ruse. 

“Well, it’s getting late, so I better head back downstairs.” Mac smiled, ruffling her skirts as she stood and pulled open the trapdoor. She extinguished the oil lamp on her way out. “Night, Naomi.”

“Night.” With the attic suddenly thrust into darkness, Naomi tried to stop thinking about her parents, or her brother, or the secrets she’d never been told. She had too many other problems. 

Her brother may possibly have been a traitor to the people of her kingdom the entire time? Forget that, how was she meant to even make it _back_ home?

Her mother might actually only have one child, not two? The window let in a lot of light and always woke her up at the crack of dawn; she should find some way to cover it. 

Her father might have a secret massive army that could overthrow Westerburg, kill everybody and turn the country into a war zone? Well, she couldn’t leave the attic, so she better find a way to get out without being seen in case of emergency. 

She was never going to be able to rule, help people, govern the kingdom that was her birthright? 

There were other things she could deal with first…

⭗⭗⭗

Sometimes Veronica wished she had a pet. 

Martha had a dog, back at her family manor. Some of the servants fed the birds in the courtyard. 

You could confide in a pet, because it wasn’t like a dog would go and spread your secrets round the kingdom. It was just a constant loyal companion. A friend, without any other malicious or self-serving intentions. She remembered a text she’d read in one of her lessons; they’d been looking at long-dead philosophers. 

_ ‘Nothing is more noble, nothing more venerable, than loyalty.’ _

Veronica didn’t know who Cicero had been talking about, but she’d always applied that kind of logic to owning a pet. 

JD had a horse…

“No no nope  _ stop it _ !” She muttered, smacking her forehead. “Stop it brain!”

If she thought too much about JD, then she would get lost in remembering everything that had just-

Nope! She was a royal princess. Guarded and noble. Not swooning over the memory of her first kiss. 

There were more important things to focus on. Like the knowledge that there were spies in her court. And besides, they’d talked about other things before she’d been forced to leave. Nevermind that they were holding hands and staring at the stars; diplomatic discussions concerning international relations had still taken place. 

Of course, they’d kissed a lot too, but Veronica was determined not to think too much about that, lest her face begin to closely resemble a tomato. 

“Ugh, get it together Veronica.” She leant against the closest oak and tried to squint through the tree line, looking for any sort of civilization. “You have bigger problems.”

It was all very well thinking obsessively about your first real kiss, but you could do it when you were safe at home in bed, not sort-of lost in the forest. 

No again, she definitely wasn’t lost. This was the way she’d come. 

Just so I have it on record, she was very  _ very  _ clearly lost. 

Veronica kicked the tree she was leaning on in frustration, then immediately regretted it as the sole of her shoe flopped open. 

Exasperated, she fell to the floor. 

This was  _ ridiculous _ . She was  _ royalty _ , not some common street urchin. 

Right. What would Heather do? 

Probably not have gone in the first place, the annoying voice in the back of her hind chimed in. She would have insisted the meeting took place in an environment she was familiar with. 

H would have marked the trees that she walked past, instead of being distracted by the memories of dead servants and the prospect of kissing. 

Mac would have just not gone and sent a note with a fucking deer or bluebird or something, like the fairytale princess she was, saying that she was ever so sorry but didn’t want to meet in strange woods in the middle of the night. 

Martha would have been smart enough to have JD arrested before he could corrupt her mind, or whatever it was that the Dragon said. 

This was pointless. Anger at her stupid decisions wasn’t going to get her home before sun-up. The moon was already lower in the sky; Veronica reckoned she had about two hours, and that would be cutting it close enough. 

The stars hadn’t moved; the cross in the sky was there above her. Maybe she should try and make her way back to the lake. JD would be gone by now. Hopefully. It would be too embarrassing to see him. 

She’d felt a little like Cinderella; running away from the handsome prince. Even though they’d both agreed she needed to leave and stared at each other awkwardly wondering who would make the first move. 

Then he’d kissed her and headed over to his horse whilst she very purposely turned away in order for him to remember her as a calm beautiful princess instead of the red-faced mess she felt like. 

Right. She’d heard him start to ride away, or at least untie his horse, as she'd left. So back to the lake it was. 

Veronica walked for roughly five seconds before she remembered that her shoe had split open and was letting in a small avalanche of stones and twigs. 

“My god this is  _ pointless _ .” She craned her head to look up at the sky, but she wasn’t sure which arm of the cross to follow. The one with two stars pointed down, but had the one with three stars been downwards if she was walking from the castle?

She should have never come. She should have brought a guard, or a handmaiden. She should have marked the trees, made JD come to the edge of the woods. 

If she’d been the tiniest bit smarter, she wouldn’t be lost right now. 

Veronica knew that finding her way home would be much easier come daylight. There would be somebody moving through the woods; trade routes and whatnot. Surely somebody would think to cover for her; Mac knew about JD and she would surely tell Heather or H. 

Everything would be fine. 

But there was definitely something moving around next to her. 

She knew the sounds of the forest, at least as much as one could after being there for two hours. Maybe more. She’d lost track of time. 

Twigs were snapping. She’d heard the sound of a branch being moved.

Veronica  _ really _ didn’t want to come face to face with the sort of people who moved secretly through the woods after midnight. Unless they too were involved in a secret lovers tryst between enemy kingdoms. 

Hang on… did she just refer to JD as her  _ lover _ ? (She totally did).

Oh god no.

Whatever Veronica. Bigger problems. She found the nearest tree and scrambled up it just in time to see three men all in black walk underneath her. 

Veronica held in a sigh of relief. 

And then a branch snapped under her foot and fell to the floor. 

Like she was the main character in those ghost stories H loved so much, the three men twisted their heads to look up at her, smiling. 

Veronica felt like her heart was going to explode out of her chest. 

“Hello there princess.” One of the men smiled, with dark skin and bloodshot eyes. “Come down and join us.”

“Oh, I’m fine up here, thanks.” Veronica tried to control her breathing. They didn’t seem to be armed with anything other than swords - hang on, did that man have a mace? 

Either way, they couldn’t reach her. 

The man’s smile darkened. “Little girl, it wasn’t a request.”

Then the fourth man - because of  _ course _ there was a fourth man - clubbed her round the back of the head from the next tree over, and Veronica felt herself fall into what really, _ really  _ looked like a cage. 

⭗⭗⭗

Sometimes JD wondered if acting like your horse was a human could be the first sign of insanity. 

Of course, it wasn’t like he’d had the option of any other friends. And a horse that doesn’t talk back and obeys if you feed him apples? Ideal. 

“I mean, do you think I should go and… check it out?” Slushie just stared at him. 

“Take that as a no.” JD sighed, easing the horse forwards. He probably hadn’t seen people moving through the trees. He was just distracted. 

Understandably. 

They still had a while to go before they made it back to Father Ripper’s - JD has taken the long route to avoid being tracked - and he was determined to savour every minute of fresh forest air, not to mention freedom. 

JD has realised exactly what kind of man the Father was after about five omtes in his home. A man who wanted power, who  _ craved _ it, who would give up everything to get in the room where it happened. The Father had no family, and in Westerburg priests actually  _ could _ have families, and spent most of his day drilling JD for anything useful about Dekanus. Either so he could feel like a useful tool or so he could sell it to some Westerburg guard patrol. 

It was nice to spend five minutes not being forced to talk to a fat old dying man in shabby monk robes. 

Of course, after everything that had happened, freedom wasn’t the thing he’d enjoyed the most tonight. 

“Am I a fool, Slushie?” His horse snorted. “I mean… I haven’t exactly known her for long, and I’m not the kind of fool who believes in love at - no, wait, hang on, not love.”

Slushie snorted again, and JD put one hand over his forehead. 

His feelings for Veronica were… complicated. 

On one hand, she was the enemy. And also the only person in Westerburg who could accuse him of being a traitor. Without even thinking about it, he’d put them both in a precarious situation. 

But on the other hand, when he was with her, he kind of… forgot about everything, His father, his responsibilities, this fucking mess of a life he’d made for himself. And forgetting wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

And JD really couldn't forget how good it felt to kiss her, no matter how hard he tried. It made his teeth hurt. 

⭗⭗⭗

The guards - or assassins or whatever they were - unceremoniously shoved Veronica out of the cage and onto cold stone floor, where she fell in an ugly heap in front of a black throne.

Black throne and black crown. Black curtains. Black  _ everything _ . This guy was seriously hung up on gloom and despair. 

But it didn’t exactly take Veronica long to realise where she was. 

Bud Dean, tyrant, dictator and JD’s father, stared down at her from his throne, glowering. 

As Heather might have said, oh  _ shit _ . 

“Hello princess.” Bud smiled, but he wasn’t looking at her eyes. 

Veronica spat on the floor and crossed her arms over her chest, clambering to her feet. Even though he was sitting down, the throne was on an elevated platform (what is it with dictators and power complexes?), meaning Bud towered over her. 

“Your  _ majesty _ .” Veronica hissed. “Unless you wish to start a war, I kindly suggest you allow me to return home and we can forget this ever happened.”

“Oh, but little princess,” He was smiling now. “A war is  _ exactly  _ what I plan to start.”

“Really?” Veronica never took her eyes off of the guards flanking the obsidian throne, but she did briefly raise an eyebrow in Bud’s direction. “I’m sure you must be aware that Westerburg has a much larger military than Dekanus, let alone outside support you simply cannot claim.”

“Princess, princess, princess.” His tone was starting to piss her off. “There’s so much you don’t know.”

“So enlighten me, your majesty.”

“With pleasure.” The tyrant relaxed back into his throne, tapping his fingers on the arms. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Southern tribes?”

“Mercenaries that don’t work for less than ten thousand gold bars. From the deserts, which are  _ over _ one hundred miles away.”

“Incorrect, actually.” Bud stood, approaching her. Veronica resisted the urge to take a step back. “They will work for nothing, because I’ve promised them an entire kingdom.”

It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together. Veronica tried to keep the fear off of her face and out of her voice.

“So you will use mercenaries, some of whom probably can’t even speak our language and who also may turn on you at  _ any _ moment, to invade a peaceful kingdom and slaughter hundreds of innocent people - for what? Your greed is infinite, majesty.”

He laughed, and Veronica recoiled when he raised a finger to her cheek. The tyrant stank of death. He probably had a perfume made from the smoke of a funeral pyre. 

“Now, princess.” Bud was so close that she could feel his breath. “What were you doing wandering around the forest all by your lonesome in the middle of the night?”

The most obvious explanation for her current predicament was that JD had betrayed her. But Veronica wouldn’t - no,  _ couldn’t _ , believe that. 

So had her kidnappers been following her? If they had, they’d surely have seen her with JD. Except it was odd that nobody had mentioned it. Veronica had woken on the journey; the four men had talked the entire way. No mention of a traitorous prince. 

“Why don’t you tell me how you kidnapped a royal princess before I answer your questions.” 

Bud laughed - the kind of throaty laugh she’d always associated from villains in fairytales - and took a step back. Veronica inwardly sighed with relief. 

“Fair enough. I must confess that you weren’t my target. I was in fact seeking my daughter, but when my men came across you I can assume they saw you as a much greater prize.” His smile reminded her of the crocodile’s she’d read about. 

The tyrant was most likely lying to her. But everything did add up. 

This meant that JD was safe. Which mattered to Veronica more than she cared to admit. 

“And so what will you do with me now that I’m your prisoner, majesty?” She had to be careful not to reveal anything. Dictators were usually quite smart men - they were nearly always men - and Bud was no exception. 

“Why, you can enjoy the sights of my kingdom, princess. Keep you safe from the wrath that I will strike down upon your  _ traitorous _ parents.”

Veronica nearly gasped, catching herself just in time. 

Traitorous parents?

Did Bud… know her mother and father? 

Suddenly the King was back at her side, lips just touching her ear. Veronica gagged. 

“And I will make sure that you return home to the rubble of their tomb.” He hissed, before shoving her backwards into the nearest guard. Veronica didn’t feel the chains clamped around her wrists, or the dagger to her back as she was led away. 

All she could focus on was the look in Bud’s eyes. 

It had been pure rage. Not the diplomatic kind, but the personal. 

The King of Dekanus knew her parents, and  _ hated _ them. 

Clearly, somebody was lying about her history.

And what could Veronica do when she was locked at the bottom of a stone tower, iron bars keeping her from her home? 

Much like JD had been, in what felt like a lifetime ago. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I will not apologise for making Bud a total perv. Or for leaving the Heather/H cliffhanger still unsolved -
> 
> Unclimbed? Incomplete? I don't know. Whatever. Anyway
> 
> [ say hi :) ](http://scones-and-slushies.tumblr.com/)  
> x


	8. Girl, Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But you went away...  
> How dare you?

_ Dear sister, _

_ I know this is risky, and you must hate me for writing. But I actually have hope.  _

_ No names. That’s the rule. And burn this when you’ve committed the most important parts to memory. I’m trying to sound as little like myself as possible, so don’t be surprised at my formal language.  _

_ Did I just insult myself? _

_ Nevermind. The system I used to deliver this letter to you is risky, but it’s full of people either I or you trust, so I guess it works. But only write back if it’s of absolute necessity.  _

_ I miss you. Just letting you know. I miss your comments, the way you always seem to float through conversation whilst I stumble and embarrass myself.  _

_ Regardless, like I said, I have hope. I recently met with your… benefactor. Patron. Saviour. Whatever. You know who I’m talking about.  _

_ No snide comments, sister. This has nothing to do with my personal feelings _ _ (much as they may be) _ _ , so just hear me out.  _

_ An alliance between our… homes - it could benefit everybody involved. You’ve seen this place; I hope not much and you’ve been... contained as requested, but you at least saw the freedom of the people.  _

_ I have a plan. It might be a foolish plan, but a plan nonetheless. Talk to your benefactor when she returns. She’ll know what I mean.  _

_ Yes, we met, and no, I won’t suffer your scolding.  _ _ I once heard mother say that we’re all fools in _ __

_ Regardless, speak with her. Help me. I know you desire leadership; you care for the people. This might be our only chance to dispose of the… beast in the tower. _

_ I miss you, and love you. Mother is safe, I’m safe, and feeling more alive than ever. I can’t wait to see you again.  _

_ Your brother _

⭗⭗⭗

“So…” Mac ran her hands through her hair, collapsing into Naomi’s hammock. 

Naomi herself was standing by the window, and Martha was kneeling by the mirror. She’d arrived in a flurry of pink skirts and silk purple scarves to deliver a letter straight to Naomi that somebody had slipped into her pocket as she took a morning stroll through the market. 

Veronica must have told JD that he could use Martha and Mac to get a message to her. 

Which meant that JD  _ was _ telling the truth, and he had seen Veronica last night…

But he’d clearly expected her to return…

“Ok, let’s not jump to conclusions.” Martha suddenly said, putting a comforting hand on Mac’s shoulder as she lay swinging. “Clearly, JD met with Veronica. At midnight, right Mac? That’s what the note said?”

Mac nodded, with teary eyes.

“So they probably spoke for one hour, maybe two. And then JD returned to wherever he is and Veronica came back here, at 2 o’clock. It’s only the afternoon now, so it’s completely possible she just got lost!”

Naomi wasn’t looking at them, but she could picture the fake smile that Martha was so clearly pulling. 

“Right…” Mac rubbed her eyes and pulled herself upwards, turning towards the window. “What do you think, Nio?”

That name…

She could remember a sunny afternoon, running in the courtyard and tripping on loose stones. Grazing her knee, crying. Her mum kissing her, taking her into her room, bandaging her knee, telling her it would be all right, my darling,  _ everything will be okay _ . JD sneaking into her tower late that night, bringing her a spare cookie from the banquet she wasn’t allowed to go through, telling her not to cry, Nio,  _ because if you cry you won’t be able to go to the next one _ . 

God, she missed him.

“I think they’re both fools.” Naomi muttered, gripping the windowsill. “I think they’re fools in love who didn’t think to mark a route home, to not go at all, to send letters instead of meeting face to face. They’re fools that both thought they could find their way home out of strange dark woods in the middle of the night, and now JD is in hiding and Veronica’s probably dead in a ditch.”

Mac gasped. Naomi didn’t care. 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Martha spread her hands in what Naomi assumed was supposed to be a calming gesture. “We could go look for her.”

“Guards are already looking. The King and Queen are distraught.”

“I know, darling, but the guards won’t think to check the woods first. Do you remember the instructions that JD gave Veronica?”

“They depended on the stars, Martha. It’s the middle of the day.” Mac let out another sob and sunk to the floor, head in hands. “This is all my fault…”

Naomi knelt down next to her. “No, it’s theirs, not yours. But we might as well try.” She turned her head towards Martha, who was shuffling her feet anxiously. “Didn’t you say that H used to live on the streets? Along with Heather? Surely they would know the woods?”

⭗⭗⭗

“Go away!” H screamed, shoving her face into the still-wet-with-tears cushions at the end of her bed. 

God, everything had shot to shit...

_ “Because I fucking love you, okay!” _

_ Heather froze, hands trembling by her side. For a second, H thought everything might change.  _

_ Then those beautiful, red-as-blood lips twisted into a sneer, and Heather’s bright blue eyes went cold as ice.  _

_ She tipped her head back to the heavens and burst into laughter. When she spoke, it was her bullying voice. Her controlling voice. The voice with no soul, no emotion.  _

_ “You  _ **_love_ ** _ me?” She cackled, rubbing her neck and turning away from H, who shrank back against the wall. “Oh, really? Really? Like Martha and Mac, huh? Like Veronica and her little prince?” H flinched as Heather suddenly shoved her against the wall, hissing from between her gritted teeth.  _

_ “Love doesn’t exist, for people like us. The abandoned, the unwanted. The bastard daughter, the orphan. We can just fuck around and that’s all we’ll ever get.” Her voice was so cold. It felt like those red nails were wrapped around H’s heart. “You have big dreams, huh? Marry a nobleman? Get real, H. You’re  _ **_nothing_ ** _ , to them and to me.” _

_ Heather straightened, pulling on her blouse. H didn’t trust herself to speak, even as those lips started to smile, and those eyes brightened with curiosity.  _

_ “Tell me, what do you call yourself inside your own mind?” Heather turned away, began to walk through the square. But her voice carried, ringing in H’s ears even as she mae her way through the gilded palace corridors.  _

_ “Do you call yourself Heather? Do you know who you are? Or do you call yourself H? What masks are you wearing?” _

_ High, cruel laughter.  _

_ “What would I see, if I ripped them off?” _

_ Walking away, running away, being carried away. Always away. She was always left behind.  _

_ “Maggots? Rotten teeth? Sunken eyes? A sight so terrible that it would make a poor little lady faint from shock?” _

_ By her parents. By her friends. By the girl she loved.  _

_ “Or would I just see a sad little orphan, dirty cheeks and raggedy hair, as she cried on cobblestone streets with the world moving around her?” _

_ And she never had the strength. To run after them, to pick herself up and keep moving.  _

_ “Do you  _ **_really_ ** _ think you’re something special? There are so many orphan girls out there, just like you. Kicked to the curb, ignored, taken in.” _

_ She only had one solution. It was all she’d ever had.  _

_ “Let me tell you something, darling.” _

_ Cry. Scream. Pound her fists against the walls.  _

_ “I could  _ **_never_ ** _ love a single one.” _

_ Sit in the shadows, and let the tears fall… _

H moaned, throwing another cushion at the door and rolling over. “I said, fucking  _ go away _ !”

The pounding at her chamber door ceased. 

But she didn’t want the silence. 

The silence was full of maggots, rotten teeth, sunken eyes and terrible sights to make a poor lady faint. Crying orphaned girls abandoned on cobblestone streets. The shadows had so many masks. Faces upon faces. 

“Heather?” That was a voice she didn’t recognise. Calling her Heather?

She heard somebody mutter (the walls are so thin in this castle seriously I have to wear like ten layers in the winter), then the voice spoke again. “H?”

Grunting, H stormed over to the door, throwing it open. 

“What the hell do - who the  _ fuck _ are you?”

⭗⭗⭗

Mac blinked, taking in the sight before her.

H usually looked breathtaking. Dark skin, oily black hair that shone like the night sky. Big brown eyes that were always judging on the surface, but trying to understand beneath that. Kind when you got close to her. She took pride in making sure she always looked perfect. 

But now H looked more like Heather Duke, the girl that had come up from the kitchens dirty and scared. Red-rimmed eyes, tangled curls of hair and nail marks in her palms from where she’d clearly been squeezing her fists. Wearing an ugly brown tunic that fell to her knees.

She was staring at Naomi, angry and confused and something else that Mac didn’t recognise.

“Hang on.  _ Hang _ on…” H rubbed her hands on the back of her neck, frowning. “Isn’t that - what?”

Naomi turned to Mac, confusion spreading across her face too. “Wait, does she not know? I thought you told her.”

“I thought Veronica did…” Mac trailed off, because H’s eyes had clouded with anger. 

She let out a snarl that made Martha jump backwards. 

“Of course.” Heather stomped back towards her bed, with Mac trailing behind. “Of fucking  _ course _ !” She spun round, grabbing Mac by the shoulders. “There’s a literal  _ enemy princess _ being hidden by Veronica, and I’m the last to know!” She titled her head. “Does Heather know?”

“No.” Mac said, at the same time as Naomi went “Yes.”

H rolled her eyes, sinking back onto the bed as Mac met Naomi’s eyes. “Wait, what?”

“I kind of assumed Veronica had told her. After all, she helped my brother escape -”

“Your  _ brother _ ?” H snorted again. “Jesus fucking christ.”

Mac sat next to her, running a hand through the black tangles that fell over the girl's shoulder. She’d never really seen H like this, but it reminded her of how young the girl really was. “We didn’t mean to keep it from you. But Veronica and JD…”

Suddenly H sat straight up, yelping when her hair caught on Mac’s nails. “Of  _ course _ . That’s what she meant when she said Veronica and her prince.”

“Look, I get that you’re pissed, but we have bigger issues right now?” Naomi started pacing the floor, and Martha leant against the door-frame, keeping a watch for eavesdropping servants. “We have to go and look for her.”

“Go and look for who?” 

Mac sat up straighter, staring at H’s crumpled brow. “H, have you even left your room?”

“Clearly no.” H snorted again, rolling off the bed and making her way to the closet, pulling the tunic off as she went. “Where  _ is _ Veronica, anyway?” She asked, pulling on dark woollen leggings and a shorter green tunic that fell to her waist. 

Naomi raised an eyebrow, and it looked like she was holding in laughter. Mac rubbed her arms. This was going to be uncomfortable. 

“Well, she went to meet JD last night -”

H burst into laughter. “Cute. A little lovers tryst between enemy -”

“No, well, JD sent Naomi a letter this morning. So we know he’s doing fine. But Veronica, she…”

The brown eyes narrowed. “Veronica what?”

“She never came back.”

⭗⭗⭗

“I mean, I don’t know girl.” Ram leant against the door, all confidence and swagger. H wanted to sock him round the face. 

It had been a strange morning, or afternoon, or whatever the time was. Discovering that Veronica was maybe in love, and at least in  _ like _ (because love at first sight is bullshit and nobody can convince me otherwise so that  _ will not _ happen here folks), with the Prince of Dekanus, Jason Dean. JD. The tyrant son. And also that the Princess of Dekanus, Naomi Dean, Nio, the hidden daughter, was being sheltered in Mac’s attic with Veronica’s permission. Veronica who was now missing, despite her maybe-boyfriend's belief otherwise, if the letter that was supposed to have been burnt as soon as it was received could actually be trusted. 

After all that, learning that Kurt and Ram were lovers was nothing. 

To be honest, H kind of supported it. 

Kurt appeared over Ram’s shoulder, wearing nothing but a loincloth. He blanched when he saw H at the door, stammering and stepping backwards. “Oh, we were-”

“Cut the crap Kurt, I’ve been made aware of… this.” H waved her arms around as she stepped into their room. It was the same size as hers, and only two floors up, which was surprising considering their status as suitors. 

“Do you guys share, or just sneak in in the middle of the night.” She sniggered, almost sitting on the bed but then clicking her fingers and thinking better of it. 

She caught a look at herself in the mirror. Hair immaculate, tangles tamed. Redness around the eyes gone after a thorough face wash. Mask back on.

Screw Heather. There were more important things to focus on. 

“Well, erm, why are you here?” Kurt crossed his arms, leering at her over Ram’s shoulder. 

“I need you to cover for us, as I’ve already explained to your boyfriend here.” H rolled her eyes when they just stared back in obvious confusion. “ _ Cover _ for myself, Mac, Martha and - a  _ friend _ \- whilst we go and search for Veronica.”

“Oh, yeah. She was meeting that prince guy.” Ram slumped onto the bed and put his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. “Sure. We’ll say we have no idea where you are, but then  _ casually _ mention that you like walking. And no, my room’s next door,”

H rolled her eyes again, but it was better than nothing. She made for the door when Kurt held out an arm to stop her. 

“Wait a minute. In that letter it said to use the stars, but it’s, like, afternoon.”

Bloody hell. 

“I know what lake JD’s talking about. Don’t worry.” H pushed his arm away and rapped her knuckles on the door as she left. “And by the way, Ram,” She grinned, flicking her hair. “That shirt is  _ way _ too short for you.”

⭗⭗⭗

They were getting nowhere, and it was pissing Naomi off. 

H had taken them to the lake - apparently she’d gone there a lot as a child, but Naomi had stopped listening because H just kept going on about how Veronica should have marked the trees, or not gone at all.

Then they’d found horse tracks heading further in the forests, but Naomi knew they were probably from JD and Slushie, so she’d focused on the footprints left on the muddy shore. 

Two sets of tracks; both faded, and some prints were incomplete, but they were clearly a pair of boots that left with the hoof-prints, and a pair of dainty flats that came from the Westerburg areas of the forest and then returned. 

So they’d decided to follow the footprints, only to have them disappear completely after about two minutes because they were on hard ground and the mud had rubbed off. 

And now H was leaning against a tree, Mac and Martha were on the floor and Naomi was seriously considering going back home to find the sweet release of death as she was hung for being a traitor. Maybe she could request a silken cord instead of a tatty rope. 

Just so it’s on record, I too would prefer to be hung from silken cords instead of rope, in case I’m ever convicted. 

“Maybe we should just… wander around a bit?” Martha offered from the mossy floor, and H snorted, kicking the tree she was leaning on. 

H seemed alright, and she was brilliant with sarcasm, but if Naomi heard her snort one more time she would run her through with a knife. 

“This is pointless.” Mac pulled Martha up from the floor, brushing twigs off of her skirt. “Veronica might have found her way back by now. We should go back.”

“Fair enough.”

“I don’t trust Kurt and Ram anyway.”

“It would be worrying if you did.” Naomi rubbed her hands over her forearms to try and warm them. The wind was strange through the woods; normally Naomi loved it when her curls fell about her as the breeze flew through them, but this wind was biting, like a starved predator clawing her cheeks. 

The tree’s were just beginning to thin out when she saw it. 

A cloak, caught in the brambles. 

With a red circular crest in the bottom right corner. 

“Woah.” Mac picked it up, holding the fabric to the light. “This is cool. It’s barely torn.”

“Don’t!” Naomi shouted, then bit her tongue as the three girls turned to her in confusion.

She tried again, calming her pounding heart. “I mean… this is the edge of the wood. It probably belongs to a farmer. We should… leave it.”

H rolled her eyes, but kept moving forwards. Mac and Martha exchanged looks, but they followed on, and Naomi sighed with relief. 

She knew that crest. 

A red circle, with three drops of blood falling on a crown rising from the bottom. 

The crest of the Southern Tribes. Mercenaries. 

Her father often spoke of them…

Nope. No. That was foolish. They were expensive, used by warlords in distant lands, who ruled empires and fought witches. They would never ally with her father, and they would have no incentive to capture a lost girl in the woods. 

But Westerburg did have a lot of gold… and if they helped her father in the war he was so intent on…

No no no. Naomi shook her head, trying to clear the fog of suspicion from her brain. It would do no good to speculate. 

However, it does good, sometimes, to listen to those suspicions. The voice in the back of your mind that poisons your heart with doubt. 

It might be an arsehole, but it knows things. It sees things. 

Like the torn fabric of a skirt, tangled deep in the brambles, as a princess was dragged through the forest and the assassin who had caught her skirt on his sword lost his cloak. 

Gaps in the branches. Areas clear of stone where somebody had been dragged. The odd footprint in the muddy tracks that couldn’t be explained away as a simple peasant. 

But Naomi wasn’t a tracker, and she refused to listen to suspicion.

⭗⭗⭗

He wasn’t a cruel man. 

You might find that hard to believe, given his profession, but he really wasn’t. 

The tyrants had a way of turning the kind men cruel. But not this man. 

Though he didn’t show it on his face, the guard posted outside of the princess’ cell, deep in the Dekanus Royal Tower, on the outskirts of the royal estate, felt guilt in his heart when he heard the princess cry. 

When she begged him for food, he wanted to give her his rations, but instead he stared coldly forwards like a clockwork soldier.

When she screamed murder for the King, he wanted to join her, but instead slammed his sword against the bars of the cell, telling her silently to be quiet. 

When she spoke to him, sweetly like a rose that has many thorns hidden under pink petals, he didn’t rise to the bait, though he had a feeling the girl would make for an interesting partner in conversation, and he was ever so lonely. 

But when she spoke in her sleep, when she was unaware, talking about a girl named Heather, her parents and, most importantly, a prince named JD, he kept her secret. Slammed his sword against the metal bars whenever somebody else approached, laughed with them as she was disturbed from her slumber, but always knowing that every time he looked the other way, he was a traitor to his kingdom. 

The girl thought she was clever, and the guard knew his brains weren’t his greatest strength. But clever people often lose to the fools, who see through your words, and every time the princess let slip something suspicious, the guard ignored it. Didn’t report it. 

Maybe he was a traitor. But he’d lost hope for this kingdom a long time ago. And the least he could do was make sure that no guard was sent to replace him, a guard who would give her poisoned water, laugh at her screams, engage in torturous conversation about the outside world and then report not just her treason, but the prince’s too. 

He couldn’t do much for the people. But he could do this small task at least. 

⭗⭗⭗

  
  


“Mac, it has to be you.” 

“But Nio -”

“Bitch, you know she’s right. And at the very least, she can’t go, Martha will be missed and I wasn’t even involved till an hour ago.”

“I said I was-”

“That’s not my point, and you know it.”

“Regardless, you’re the only one who can go Mac.”

“But I wouldn’t even know how to  _ find _ him.”

Martha sunk down into the cushions - all green, of course. She tuned out the argument in front of her and stared out of the window.

Westerburg really was beautiful. The palaces and the markets, side by side. Rich and poor. 

But Martha was starting to wonder if that was just the naive perception of a child who wanted everything to be right and turned away when it was wrong. 

She turned away from the sky and looked at the three girls arguing next to her. 

Naomi Dean. Martha had only known her for a short time, but she seemed smarter than everybody, always one step ahead and an  _ extremely _ capable leader. The light was catching on her auburn curls, bouncing on her shoulders, and her eyes were sparkling with indignance as she stared, fists balled at her sides. Martha understood her position - or at least, she thought she did. Naomi just wanted to protect her brother. 

Heather Duke. Or H. The girl who wore many faces, that was what Heather had said once, in a ballroom whilst she served drinks and glided around, smugly prettier than most of the women there. Martha liked everybody, but sometimes H annoyed her. She never said anything meaningful; hid her thoughts behind a barbed tongue and way with words. But she had ambitions, and was kind to her friends occasionally. Martha could appreciate that.

And Heather McNamara. Mac. Her girlfriend.

Sometimes Martha thought she was dreaming, when she looked at the girl she loved; fluffy blonde curls, sparkling green eyes, always smiling. Martha had loved her for years. 

And then suddenly Mac started to love her back. 

“Martha.” Naomi had her hands on her hips, interrupting the daydream. “What do you think?”

“I, erm -”

“Jesus bitch, listen.” H swung her arm round Mac’s shoulders. “Should this lovely lady here be sent to look for JD to tell him of Veronica’s circumstance, or should we wait for him to find out himself, when it’s officially announced to the kingdom.”

“That could be weeks from now.” Somebody said from the door. “I’ll go.”

Everybody jumped. 

Heather Chandler, red skirt swirling, smiled like a benevolent dictator, tossing an apple into the air. 

⭗⭗⭗

Clearly these fools had never kept a serious secret before. 

Even Naomi, the runaway princess and second heir to the enemy kingdom, hadn’t bothered to shut the door. Meaning that Heather could just stand there, nibbling on an apple and listening. 

Veronica was missing. 

That was big. But she’d realised that as soon as she went to wake the princess and found an empty bed. It didn’t take a genius to put the puzzle pieces together. Veronica had gone to see JD, and never come back. She’d even left the garden gate open. 

There were three possibilities, and she was leaning towards the third purely because of the worry hidden under Naomi’s frankness. 

One was that Veronica had got herself lost in the woods, and would eventually find her way back, spin some story about helping a peasant or whatever, and everything would be normal again. 

The second, and more gruesome option, was that the princess was dead. Fell into a ditch and bled out, killed by a random thief; Heather knew the kinds of criminals and outcasts that made their living under the shadow of night, and they didn’t care about your station

But the third option was the most interesting. 

Kidnapping. 

Possibly orchestrated by JD, or by his father who was onto them. Or by an opportunist - it didn’t really matter who, they’d taken the princess. If it 

was a completely uninvolved party, then a ransom would probably be requested sooner or later, but that didn’t seem likely given all of the shit that Veronica had found herself involved in soon as she met JD in the marketplace.

“Oh relax.” Heather sneered when she saw Naomi move towards the wardrobe. “I know all about you.”

“Veronica told you?”

“Sure, Mac.” She moved towards the blonde, purposely avoiding H’s gaze. That could be dealt with later. “But regardless, I’ll go find JD. I’ve already met him, so I know what he looks like, more than any of you anyway.”

“Heather, wait.”

She tried not to flinch as H put a hand on her shoulder. 

_ Weak. _

Heather grabbed the girls hand and shook it off, resisting the urge to clean her palm on her skirt. She wouldn’t be unnecessarily cruel today. There were more important things. 

Being a hero. Being an opportunist. 

“Don’t bother stopping me.” She said as she strode towards the door, her gut roiling. 

Say it. Come on. Just say it.

“This place means nothing to me without Veronica anyway.” Heather smiled, taking a bite of her apple to give one cold look back before striding away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you expect a big ChanDuke scene? Please tell me nobody expected that scene...
> 
> Sorry not sorry. Again. God, this should be my writing motto. 
> 
> Anyway, I actually managed to update on time this week (can I get a cheer?), so that's at least one victory. 
> 
> [ say hi :) ](http://scones-and-slushies.tumblr.com/)  
> x


	9. Doing All These Things Out Of Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I cannot be better than them...  
> I will become so much worse

There was one voice that would never leave her mind. 

He’d called himself Ziro, and he was a thief who stole for those who couldn’t steal for themselves. Lived in the trees, and nobody ever fought him, because you were sure to risk another gang’s wrath, even though Ziro belonged to nobody. 

He was a so-called dreamer, a storyteller. He would entertain children for hours, sitting in the square and telling stories. Of young couples driven mad by their love for each other, of jealousy that drove a husband to kill and a mother to leap to her death, of monsters and men - though her favourites were the ones where villains triumphed and heroes were shown to be foolish and woefully under-prepared, believing a knowledge of fairy tales would save them. The stories with twists, where girls marry rivers and monsters; those were the ones she enjoyed, not the stupid romances where everything ended happily. 

Heather thought of him now, as she descended the tower. He always told her to think ahead, to keep dreaming up a new life. 

She hadn’t understood, at first. Heather had dreamt up a life where  _ she _ was the princess - and, oh, she hadn’t been kind. She’d been cruel. Taken land. Formed an empire. 

You had a problem? Fix it yourself. You needed more money; taxes were too high? Shouldn’t have had any children. Dare to look the queen in the eye, or comment on any of her habits? Say hello to the devil and save your ruler a seat by his side. 

Some of her favourite fairy tale villains had been cruel. Sea witches, wicked stepmothers. None of them won,  _ obviously _ , because the pretty princesses and kind-of-perverted princes were the winners every time. 

Heather would stare up at the palace towers, and think on how the ruling family controlled all the cards. She would twist the stories, make it so the villains were the heroes. Displaced rulers, widowed queens. When she did that, the heroes came out flimsy, two-dimensional - and they never survived. 

Ziro had always laughed when Heather told him her versions. He’d said she’d do well in faerieland, where you couldn’t triumph unless you were prepared to draw a lot of blood. 

He was kind of a psychopath, to be honest. 

And she missed him. Heather didn’t miss many people from her childhood; Chandler, who taught her to be selfish and cruel. Dayi, who taught her to throw a knife and how to make a poison. Ziro, who taught her to be a villain. Sander, who taught her to take what she wanted and never feel guilty. Everybody else had faded in her memory. 

She would go find JD, that hadn’t been a lie. For all her faults, Heather cared for Veronica. And she’d been lying, what she’d said to Mac. Westerburg was more than a person. 

But Heather could bury her heart - she’d been doing it for years. Queens didn’t shed a tear at the gallows. And Heather had to be on the winning side. 

Which meant there was only one army to join. 

And she was on the wrong side of the forest. 

⭗⭗⭗

Life sucked. 

H kicked the stone walls of her bedroom, and then immediately regretted it, stifling a cry as she clutched her wounded toes. 

Everything was just… shit. 

Naomi had gone back to her hidey-hole, not saying anything. H didn’t trust her. It wasn’t anything personal - Naomi had just been watching them too closely the entire afternoon. She was hiding something. 

Martha and Mac had gone to… well, H didn’t really want to know, to be honest. She didn’t even really care. They were so happy it made her sick. Hell, even Kurt and Ram were happy. But H was akin to a sack of rotten potatoes - in that she was completely useless in every way, not made of rotten vegetables. 

H had been too scared, too unwilling to go and find JD. Tell him what had happened. But then Heather stormed in and in two minutes she’d convinced everybody that she could be trusted and had no ulterior motivations and even though she knew everything it was just because she was amazing. Then she insulted them all and walked straight out.

H envied that power. 

But she’d been too stunned to do anything. And she really didn’t want to go running after Heather  _ again _ . And now it was too late, because somehow H knew that Heather was leaving after she found JD - if she even found him at all. 

Then somebody barged through her bedroom door. 

“Heather?” H gasped, shameful of how breathless she sounded. It wasn’t like she’d just come back from a long journey; she’d literally been lying on her bed and thinking about how pointless she was to this story (as in Veronica’s story, not, like,  _ this _ story. H isn’t breaking the fourth wall or anything). 

But was it technically her fault if every time she was Heather she caught her breath

“Deliver this to JD.” Heather’s eyes were cold, and she was in travelling clothes. 

“I thought you were doing that.”

“Well I wrote the letter. Go and do something useful for once, instead of just moping around.” Heather dropped the slip of paper onto the nearest chest of drawers and walked backwards through the door, boots tapping on the flagstones as she turned.

H slipped the letter into her pocket and ran to the door. “Hold up, Heather.”

The girl stopped, slipping a wayward curl behind her ear as she cast a look back. H took a deep breath and tried not to make it obvious. 

She wasn’t going to embarrass herself again. 

“Look, I’m not an idiot, okay? I know you’re leaving, and I really hope I’m wrong about where I think you’re going, but I get it. I know that we won’t survive a war. But…” She didn’t really know what to add, but there was something in Heather’s eyes that she’d never seen before. It was akin to a mountain of ice crumbling. 

Heather mumbled something that she couldn’t hear - that she probably wasn’t  _ meant _ to hear, then started walking away. “Get out whilst you can, H.” Her voice was thin as smoke. “You know what’s coming.”

Fuck. 

She couldn’t follow her again. She couldn’t always be trailing behind, in the shadows. That wouldn’t be her life again. 

⭗⭗⭗

She really just didn’t want to see JD again. 

Because if she saw him, then she’d have to face how deeply she was betraying everybody who she’d ever cared for. 

Chandler, who taught her to be selfish and cruel. A runaway from Dekanus, mother dead from the brothels. Dayi, who taught her to throw a knife and make poison. A farmer’s adoptive daughter, once a soldier’s son exiled by the tyrant king. Ziro, who taught her to be a villain. Parents and younger brother dead from an attack by soldiers dressed all in black. Sander, who taught her to take what she wanted and never feel guilty. Another runaway, from the pleasure houses used by Dekanus lords and occasionally ladies. 

Mac, her younger sister who thought she was all alone in the world with no relations except for parents. Unwaveringly loyal. Friend to the Princess, servant to the King and Queen. She believed that Dekanus was a purely evil kingdom, akin to one of Satan. She would die before she changed sides. 

Veronica. The fucking  _ princess _ herself. Despite the fact that she was in the process of falling in love with the prince of Dekanus himself and actually being held captive by the King, she would never betray her kingdom, no matter how much she pretended not to care.

And H. The lowly street orphan with a plan, shunned by more traditional nobles for her bastard status, skin and confidence. She would rise through the ranks, Heather was sure of it. Marry a nobleman who wanted to appear accepting. Become a rich socialite. And if she wanted that, then what could Heather do? 

You can’t make other people want something just because your heart started beating again. 

No, Heather could stay out of her way. Make her forget her feelings. It would be better for both of them. 

And when she was drowning in blood, fighting for the devil and standing in the ruins of a castle she’d once called home, there would be no time for mourning. Mourning her parents, her sister, her friends. Mourning who could have been more, a life that could have been. 

She would be a winner, then. Cruel and unforgiving. 

Warriors didn’t love. And if they ever did, their jealousy would drive them to murder and suicide, according to Ziro. 

But she couldn’t face her actions, face what she was about to do, until the past was far behind her and she had a new king. 

⭗⭗⭗

_ Prisoner. _

_ I helped you escape, but you don’t love me. Should be fairly obvious who I am. _

_ I’ll make this short. The girl you love is meeting your parents, but not exactly over dinner. Probably over stale bread thrown through cell bars.  _

_ She never returned, and was with a close friend when she received your letter, so we know she should have. It doesn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.  _

_ If you get this letter, then we can assume that you’re either a traitorous bastard who just wanted to fuck a princess, or you got lucky and escaped. Maybe you already know, and are trying to get home to rescue your little lover. _

_ Well, I don’t care what you do, so long as you make sure my friend gets home safe without the loss of a limb or a sword through the gut.  _

_ Luck, Princey. _

_ The Lady In Waiting _

⭗⭗⭗

The cell was damp. Spiders in the corner. Veronica was pretty sure a rat had crawled over her foot last night. Only the best for visiting royalty. 

Somebody was standing outside of her cell. He never moved, and completely ignored her. She’d tried everything; trickery, playing nice, aggression - he was a good soldier. Exactly the kind needed when you were running a dictatorship. 

If she was going to die - which was highly likely - Veronica had no regrets.

She didn’t regret not saying goodbye. Mac would have sobbed, if given the opportunity, and Veronica would have held her tears in, making her look cruel and awkward. Martha would have hugged her, and Veronica hated to be hugged. It made her feel clammy, uncomfortable - and she wouldn’t have been able to hug back. Cruel. Awkward. 

H wouldn’t have cried. She would have royal composure even though she was the opposite of royalty. But Veronica wouldn’t have been able to do anything for her, would have never been able to help her like she’d promised. That would make her guilty, and Veronica didn’t want to die guilty. H would be the one feeling cruel and awkward. 

But Heather… she would have laughed. She always laughed. Somebody had made her a villain and they’d done a damn good job of it. She hated goodbyes. That would have made Veronica cry. Then they’d both be cruel, and awkward. 

In another life, she and her parents would have been close. But that life would have been boring. Too boring. She probably would have killed somebody. 

Veronica just hoped JD wouldn’t come looking for her. Wouldn’t try to save her. 

Because he’d get killed, and then she’d have regrets. 

⭗⭗⭗

_ “You’re not going to talk about this, and you’re going to get me in.” _

_ “Oh, but what can you get me for it?” _

_ “What do you desire, darling? A friend or a fuck? Because I can be anything.” _

Heather rose, draped in bedsheets. 

Somebody would probably frown at her. Be in shock. Sympathy. Second-hand regret. Anger. Annoyance. Happiness. Jealousy, in some cases. 

My advice: try to suppress those emotions, because when Heather laughs at you it makes you feel very,  _ very _ small. Trust me. 

Heather just felt… nothing. She hadn’t for a long time. Regret wasn’t a word in her dictionary. 

She pulled her hair over a shoulder and stared into the mirror. Blue eyes;  _ cold _ blue eyes. Raw animalistic pleasure - wasn’t that how some people described it? You should be able to see something; eyes were windows to the soul, yes?

Oh, she was babbling. Because for once in her life Heather didn’t know what to do next.

Getting to her enemy? Bloody hell, that was easy. Too easy. Hitching a ride with a poor peasant, then making her way through the forest. Swapping her dirty travel clothes for a dress from one of the brothels, then picking a target. 

Trading a sexual favour to get past the security of the royal palace? Barely an inconvenience. But now she was naked except for a sheet, with a lord in the bed behind her, staring at herself in a gilded mirror. 

Battle armour. 

Fucking get it together, Chandler. 

This isn’t a game any more. This isn’t some stunt you’re pulling to play a trick on poor little nobles who don’t know any better, or mess with servants like pawns on a chessboard. 

She threw the sheet over the noble, because he wasn’t the most attractive figure, and idly contemplated appearing in front of the tyrant completely naked. It would certainly give an impression - but not the one she was looking for. Heather didn’t want to be too threatening, but she didn’t want to be underestimated and the shirts found in his wardrobe were far too big for her. 

Oh wait. 

Ohhhh wait.

That was  _ perfect.  _

Now she just needed a dash of poison, and a good villain always kept a spare vial. 

⭗⭗⭗

_ Princey,  _

_ Here we go again.  _

_ Your true love is missing. And trust me, I care. I care a lot more than you know.  _

_ See, I used to love her too.  _

_ Like you do.  _

_ And you’re not getting this letter, I’m writing it for myself and then holding it over a fireplace because some men just want to watch the world burn - and some women enjoy playing with fire.  _

_ God, I hate myself for doing this. Writing shit down. But if I’m about to die, then I want to leave some kind of mark in the world. Ashes in the gutter.  _

_ I was here. I gave up to get in, and maybe it’s going to kill me. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll succeed.  _

_ You can’t begin to imagine what I’m going to do.  _

_ And know this wasn’t a split second decision. The pieces just fell together. I’ve wanted to leave for a long time. You gave me a way out, Princey. _

_ All right, I’ve stayed my welcome and the man on a gilded bed beside me is choking on his own vomit, so let me go be cruel again.  _

_ Ashes, ashes, we all fall down… _

⭗⭗⭗

Count Gowan was rich. Old. Kind of a pervert. 

Unique characteristics, I know. Clearly, he was a great man. 

Gowan was born and raised in Dekanus, but he didn’t have a sob story. Oh no. He came from an aristocratic family who had long been close to the royals, money buying them a seat at the table for multiple generations. 

And now Gowan was dying. 

For all his flaws (and there were many), he wasn’t an idiot. He’d been in the process of waking, expecting to find the blonde whore from earlier at his side, except then he was coughing up bright blue liquid and the woman was smiling at him from the end of the bed writing on a piece of paper. She’d somehow procured a guards uniform. 

Now he was choking on something. 

Had she…  _ poisoned  _ him

It was at that moment Count Gowan realised that he had royally fucked up - and possibly helped an assassin sneak into the palace. 

Not much he could do about that, though. Since he was twitching and coughing, writhing with agony on the bed when only a few hours ago - or maybe it was minutes; time was slipping away - he’d been writhing with pleasure. 

The blonde’s laugh was ringing in his eyes. He managed to tilt his head, groaning, to see her holding the same piece of paper over the fire, watching the flames.

But by then his vision was blurring, and she was made of colours. 

Death was extremely painful. Gowan could almost feel it eating at him from the inside. He should be able to say goodbye. At least his son could inherit the estate. His daughter could… marry. Somebody would have to ensure it was a good match. 

It would be better if she married the prince, but the girl was only five. A few years would be needed until she was of age.

The blonde was back, titling his chin, or maybe he was just hallucinating. He could hear her voice hissing in his ear, but couldn’t make out the words. The world was collapsing around him. 

To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what Gowan was thinking about in his final moments, but I assume it was something to do with money. 

⭗⭗⭗

She was spotted straight away, but that was really kind of the point. 

After all, how many tall, beautiful, female guards did King Dean really employ to guard his iron walls? Heather certainly hadn’t seen any. 

There was also the added fact that she didn’t really  _ look _ like she was from Dekanus. That was something she hadn’t properly taken into consideration. Everybody here had black or brown hair, and there were a lot more people with dark skin. H would blend in nicely, but not Heather with her blonde curls and ice-blue eyes. 

Heather didn’t  _ act _ like any of the women she’d seen either. Even the queen kept her head down, trailed by an entourage of bodyguards. Nobody was confident here - not in the way that she’d been taught to be. 

But surely that would just leave a bigger impression. 

“Oh no, please not the dungeon.” She said drily, rolling her eyes as the guards wrapped her in chains. “I’m oh so scared of the  _ rats _ !” Then she laughed. 

“Alright, enough.” Heather bent down slightly, trying to make herself seem more submissive. Everybody liked a power play. “Don’t actually take me to the dungeons. You’re going to want to take me to the king.” 

When the men stopped in confusion, she took the opportunity to stab one with a poisoned dart hidden in her pocket. It would take about two minutes, and she couldn’t get sent to the dungeons. 

Her plan would fail, and it was also very likely she would run into Veronica. That had to be avoided. 

“I’m from Westerburg.” Heather moved as much as she could in her chains, and stabbed the other guard in the leg when she pretended to fall down, throwing the dart across the flagstones. She could already see swat pouring down the other man's brow. 

Poison is a girl's best friend, and fast poison is even better.

Then, like a stack of dominoes, both men fell over. Heather rolled her eyes, unlocked her cuffs, checked herself over in the puddle of water nearby and strolled into what she hoped was the throne room. 

To their credit, the guards acted quickly. Only the king looked surprised, but isn’t that always the way with arrogant dictators? They think they’re unbeatable. Nobody took notice of her hands, raised in surrender. 

“Just, by the way,” Heather grinned as she was thrown before the throne, trying to land gracefully. “There are two men outside who I believe were attempting to lock me in a cell. They’ll be dead by the morning.”

“A Westerburgian assassin, I assume.” The King growled, staring down at her from his obsidian throne. “Not a very successful one.”

“An assassin, no. Somebody with information who wants to win, that’s me.” Heather tipped her head sideways to watch two guards drag in the bodies from the hall. “I believe an old Count is also dead in his room, might want to investigate that.”

The King growled again. “And why should I listen to a word you have to say, traitor?”

“Really sounds like you’re condemning me for being a traitor to your enemy. Isn’t that what you want?” For good measure, she batted her eyelashes as she stared up at him. The King visibly relaxed into his throne. 

“So I can assume that you’re the one who taught the princess how to play with words?”

“You presume correctly.”

“And what is it that you desire, traitor.” The King was watching her carefully - he was clever. That was better than a stupid dictator, because often somebody was pulling the strings. But intelligent people often walked right into your trap because they were too busy overthinking it. 

Well, now or never. 

“I want protection from after you win your war and the satisfaction of being the one to behead the princess. Or tie the noose - however you feel like staging an execution.” That last one was improvised, but maybe that way Heather could find some way to save Veronica. 

The King only looked mildly shocked. 

“And why would I  _ ever _ offer a handmaiden protection? That’s what you are, I assume.”

“Again, you presume correctly.” Though she was  _ technically _ a Lady In Waiting. “But here’s the thing, your majesty.” Heather stood, really just to enjoy the spectacle of every sword in the room being drawn, but the King waved them away. 

She walked up the dais until they were at eye level to each other, holding her body in a way that suggested confidence but not dominance. 

There was something about the queen. Heather had noticed it earlier when she was the woman in the corridors, but now it was even more obvious as she stood behind her master. 

She looked… familiar. 

But Heather pushed the thought away and focused back on the king, smiling. 

“Not only am I loyal to the biggest power, which is currently you, I also know where your daughter is.”

⭗⭗⭗

_ Princey, and by some extension Veronica, since you’re soulmates or whatever. _

_ I just met your father.  _

_ We got on  _ **_so_ ** _ well.  _

_ See, I might be considered a traitor, but think about it this way; do I give a shit about keeping your sister safe if I can use her to my advantage?  _

_ Short answer: _

_ No.  _

_ Let me tell you about my plan, since I imagine you’re confused.  _

_ I’ve always known that there were a) spies from Dekanus in the royal court, b) that Dekanus has the bigger army because they’re perfectly willing to use mercenary tribes, and c) King Dean really wants a war. _

_ I stick with the big fish, Princey. And your father is the biggest one in the ocean.  _

_ Protection; that’s all I wanted. If I have to let slip the location of a certain princess to get it, that won’t weigh on my conscience.  _

_ Notice, though, that I didn’t betray you or Veronica. Surely I get points? _

_ Not for you. _

_ For her.  _

_ I’m burning this letter too, once they clear out that dead Count and his vomit. I requested his room. Not like he’s going to need it any longer.  _

_ My official position is the Royal Adviser, because apparently it was an open slot. Unofficially, I just whisper secrets.  _

_ War is coming, Princey.  _

_ Fire and blood and anguish… _

⭗⭗⭗

“Ms Chandler.” The man at her door was your typical brute. Looked like he could snap a neck in half but barely able to string a sentence together. She’d only been the Royal Adviser for two hours and she was already tired of them, especially the ones who insisted they were her personal guard. 

Heather smiled, turning back to the fireplace. It was almost therapeutic, to watch the black ink drip away into nothing. 

She was dressed in silk, falling in waves from her shoulders, and the queen was in a worn woollen dress. It was quite amusing. 

“You can leave us.” She gave her guards a death stare until they went, supposedly closing the door, but Heather could see the shadow of their boots from underneath. 

“What are you doing, girl?”

“I beg your fucking pardon?” Heather sat on the bed, crossing her legs and staring up at the woman before her. 

For royalty, she was a joke. 

“I think I’m doing just fine, your  _ majesty _ .” She ran a hand through her curls, trying to appear as comfortable as possible. “Better than you, at any rate.”

“You don’t know what he-”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Heather stood, cupping the queens face with her right hand. “You’re not his mother.”

She flinched, but didn’t reply. 

“There’s more… but I can’t quite see it yet.” Heather grinned, running her fingers up into the mousy brown bun that supposedly looked dignified. “No matter. I’m not interested in your warnings.” They were close enough to kiss. “Get out.”

“I am the _queen_.” Cephy Dean said, just as Heather rolled her eyes and turned back to the fire. 

“You’re no queen, my lady.” She picked up the poker absently, poking the ashes. “You’re a coward, and a joke.”

No reply. 

“I said,  _ get. Out. _ ” Heather stared at the fire until she heard the sound of a door closing from behind. 

Her guards would trail in in a second, and report anything said to the king. She couldn’t show weakness. 

Be a villain. 

But in the twilight, as the flames climbed higher and all evidence of her heart went up in smoke, when the silence reigned as she was alone for a few precious moments, Heather let a tear make it’s way down her cheek. 

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shall use this note to tell everybody that you need to go read/watch Anna Karenina. I took some inspiration -
> 
> No I didn't don't worry nobody yeets themselves into a train in this fic. It's just a really really REALLY good story.
> 
> Anyway. 
> 
> [ say hi :) ](http://scones-and-slushies.tumblr.com/)  
> x


	10. The Enemy Of My Enemy Is My Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> true friends stab you in the front

The first thing Veronica felt was the wind in her hair. 

Which didn’t make sense. 

She could smell fresh grass, a forest - 

Oh. A dream.

But why was she upside down?

Veronica groaned, trying to make sense of the upside-down forest she was seeing, then heard somebody move behind her. 

Her vision cut, and she heard ringing in her ears as JD’s face floated into view. 

“Veronica?” His mouth moved, but she could barely hear him. The pain in her head felt too real for a dream. Her limbs weren’t responding and her tongue felt like a roll of dry parchment. 

Somebody was laying her down and she could see a horse out of the corner of her eye. Was that JD?

“Here.” He muttered, tipping water into her mouth to soothe her parched tongue. She could feel drops running down her chin and under her top - dirty, ripped and covered in sweat. 

JD was talking, but it was like the effects of dehydration and starvation were hitting her all at once. There was a pain in her stomach akin to the ones she sometimes got every month and the ringing was growing louder. 

Veronica tried to run her fingers through the grass, but touching anything felt like she was being stung.

She didn’t want to close her eyes, but she could feel herself slipping away…

⭗⭗⭗

She’d never been so alone. 

At least in the streets, there were other orphans just like her. Everybody was in the same boat; poor, abandoned, dreaming of another life. 

But now she couldn’t even see. 

H had been walked up the platform with a bag over her head, feeling hands pulling her forward and tying a silken cord around her neck. In the back of her mind, there was a little voice appreciating that at least she probably wouldn’t get rope burn as she died.

That little voice didn’t fear death.

It sounded like Heather. 

But H was glad for the lack of vision. If everything was dark, nothing would start to slip away. 

And she wouldn’t see…

No. 

She kept trying to think of happy memories. Being brought into the royal palace. Searching through the archives with Veronica trying to find a dress that would make an impression - probably not a good impression, but innocence was overrated anyway. Seeing Mac smile as they walked through the gardens. All five of them in Veronica’s room gossiping. The family she’d built for herself. 

But no matter how hard she tried, H couldn’t erase the images from her mind. 

Blonde curls. 

Blue eyes. 

Heather.

Her first love. 

_ Traitor _ .

Her first friend. 

_ Liar. _

The only person who’d mattered.

_ Enemy. _

⭗⭗⭗ 

**TWO HOURS EARLIER**

There was no time. 

JD was running. 

He couldn’t be seen, or the plan wouldn’t work. 

Meaning he’d had to ditch Slushie, and run through Dekanus on foot disguised as a commoner (Bud would probably have said peasant). He’d tried to pick the shortest path through the village, but there were so few guards on the street that the markets, you could call them that, were so crowded JD had considered going via rooftops. 

He was running out of time. 

_ Veronica _ was running out of time. 

She’d probably hate him for it. No, scratch that, she  _ would _ hate him for it. 

But if it got her out, if she could get home safely, then he didn’t care who he had to use and betray. 

Wrong place at the wrong time. 

He was sorry, but he had bigger things to focus on. 

⭗⭗⭗

Veronica couldn’t move her legs. 

At first it had just been that tingling sensation you get after you’ve sat with your legs crossed in lessons for so long. But then she’d looked down and realised that she wasn’t sitting cross-legged in a classroom, she was lying spread-eagle on the floor of her cell, trying to keep cool in the burning heat at the bottom of the tower. 

She’d been slipping in and out of hallucinations for the past hour. 

If the King wanted to kill her, he was doing a damn good job of it. 

The guard looked at her through the bars, and for a moment Veronica thought she saw concern on his face, but whatever emotions he kept locked away in his heart faded back into the mask of indifference as he turned away. 

She couldn’t even ask for water. It hurt to move. 

Was this starvation? Dehydration? Or was her food poisoned? It was probably water. When she imagined her death, it was in the ruins of her grand kingdom, parents and people dead before her, JD in chains forced to watch. 

“How does it feel, princess?” Bud smiled down at her, twisting the crown worn by her father only two days ago between his fingers, covered in blood and tears. She didn’t want to look down, because everybody she’d ever loved was lying there. 

Somebody slammed her head into the guillotine, and JD started struggling harder against his chains. He kept looking between her and the body of his sister, eyes wide and throat slit. 

Heather, Martha, Mac, H, Naomi, her parents, her people - they didn’t deserve this. 

Was it even worth it? A kiss in the forest, a life that could have been - but happily ever after was a lie, and she’d always liked the stories where the villain had won. Probably because she never imagined herself in the place of the hero. Veronica liked to think she’d been brave, but she was kidding herself. 

“Wow, what a great ending Heather.” She laughed, lying back on the bed. The blonde rolled her eyes, perching on the vanity desk and toying with her hair. 

“I bet I would make a beautiful corpse.” She grinned. 

“Oh, no, don’t talk like that.” Mac closed the closet doors, sitting next to H at the end of the bed. Martha was… somewhere else. Veronica was dreaming again. 

Would anybody even care, if she died in the bottom of a tower. Her corpse certainly wouldn’t be beautiful. It would be bruised and dirty, with matted hair and ripped clothes. Though her parents would probably clean her up; open coffins were a royal tradition for the women in her family. 

Martha and Mac were both sobbing as they looked down on her, hand clasped. Veronica tried to open her mouth, but dead men tell no tales - apparently the same was true for princesses. 

H was talking, but her ears weren’t working. Heather just stared, with a single tear. Veronica tried to wipe it off her cheek, but her hands weren’t moving. 

At least the coffin was comfortable. 

JD wasn’t there. 

Maybe he was in jail. But her friends could vouch for him. 

Maybe he just couldn’t face seeing her body. 

Maybe he’d join her. 

Maybe she’d wake and run to stop him, only to be too late. 

Veronica knew she was dreaming.

But only the dead have seen the end of the war.

⭗⭗⭗

Veronica had terrible taste in men, H thought as she was thrown behind bars. There was a guard in front of her, arms crossed, wearing the uniform of the King. 

He was the same colour as her. 

Nobody was the same colour as her in Westerburg. Well, a few servants and street orphans, as well as some of the merchants that arrived every spring, but nobody in the _nobility_. They loved to compliment her on her bronzed skin, silken black hair. 

But H knew about the mercenaries of the Southern tribes, and didn’t think shared race would inspire any nice feelings in this brute.

She’d arrived at the outskirts of Dekanus, chasing Heather, when she’d suddenly realised what a terrible idea this was. 

She could pretend to be a mercenary, but she didn’t speak their language and it was highly likely only stupid nobles would buy it, but those kinds of people tended to stay in their gilded cages and rarely venture outside to confront the blatant poverty of the people. 

H had thought Westerburg treated the poor with disdain. 

Dekanus was a whole other story. 

But then JD had come charging out of the woods on a horse, almost running her over.

Clearly he’d got her message. 

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t spend her life following somebody else, but here she was, once  _ again _ following Heather. 

At least she and JD could get to the castle together. 

At least, that’s what she’d fucking  _ thought _ . 

But no, he’d turned her over to the guards, using it as a distraction to get himself through the gates and probably get the guards away from Veronica. 

No, fuck Veronica. And her stupid prince. 

H was sick of being a pawn in somebody else’s game. 

“Visitor.” Her guard barked, jerking H out of her thoughts as he opened the bars. She wasn’t stupid enough to try and escape. 

It was a woman, with a cloaked and bowed head, hands hidden in the silken folds of her coat. 

“What do you want?” H rolled her eyes, falling back onto her bed, not even really knowing why she’d stood up. 

She was grateful for that a moment later, when the hood came off and she was face to face with blonde curls and blue eyes. 

Heather was looking at her like she couldn’t find anything to say. 

“I could ask the same of you.”

⭗⭗⭗

The princess was dying. 

And he didn’t know how to stop it. 

He wasn’t a cruel man. He didn’t want her to die here, but maybe it would be better this way. Because she’d be executed soon anyway. Better to meet death quickly.

She didn’t speak anymore. Hadn’t moved for a few hours; he didn’t blame her. 

The other prisoners had stopped talking a long time ago. Nobody knew whether they were alive or dead, but he’d been giving their food and water to the princess anyway. 

It was the least he could do. 

⭗⭗⭗

JD was amazed it had actually worked. 

If his assumption was correct, then Veronica would be locked in the bottom of Death’s Door. It was what he and Naomi had nicknamed the place where the worst “offenders” went to die. 

The tower wasn’t very tall, or wide, and only had one entrance and exit; guarded by two men. It was a steel door, accessed by a passageway from the castle roof, considering it was at the top of the tower (might I just add that said passage was very,  _ very _ visible to a casual onlooker) and led to a circular staircase that went right down underneath the ground to a circular room with three square cells branching off the side. One highly-trained guard looked after them all, but nobody could get out once they were in. The cells would get so hot that guards never directly touched the bars for fear of burning. Every morning, another guard would bring down three glasses of water and three crusts of bed, because we do it classy here in Dekanus. 

Phew. That was a long explanation. 

Anyway. 

JD knew the layout of the tower, and as he’d predicted once he turned in Heather, the two senior guards were off to see her jailed, leaving two trainees in their place. 

Trainees who definitely didn’t know JD was meant to be gone spying in Westerburg.

They bowed as he approached, and he tried not to let any emotion slip through as they struggled with the door. 

Fuck. They were taking too long. 

⭗⭗⭗

The guard could hear somebody coming down the stairs. 

They were… running?

But how had they got past the -

_ Oh _ .

He wasn’t a cruel man, but he was a clever one. It didn't take a genius to put the pieces together. After all, only two men in the kingdom could get past those guards without struggle, and the king didn’t take himself to running. 

Before he could think about it for too long, the guard unlocked Veronica’s cell and stood with his back turned to the stairwell.

He was highly trained. Taken at birth.

He didn’t flinch when the blow to the back of his head came. 

⭗⭗⭗

_ Get it together. _

_ Look at you. You traded the location of some girl you didn’t even care about for protection; you didn’t feel guilty then. You don’t feel guilty now.  _

_ She was never really your friend. She was annoying. Desperate to belong, jealous of you, jealous of everybody. _

_ She didn’t love you, she was just a confused little girl.  _

_ You don’t love her. Not as a friend, not as anything more. You’re never falling into that trap again.  _

_ Look at you. You’re perfect. And this bitch can’t ruin that.  _

_ You’re with the winners now.  _

_ Let chaos reign, because you won’t be caught in the storm.  _

Heather took a deep breath and let go of the mirror. 

_ Forget her.  _

She swung the door open to meet the King’s gaze. 

_ Forget her. _

He offered her an arm, smiling. “You know what we do with the enemy, girl.”

_ Forget. Her. _

Heather smiled like a falling angel, heading down the hall with him to the balcony.

_ You’re in pride of place. You know what he wants; give it to him. Nothing matters. She doesn’t matter. _

There was a silken cord blowing in the wind. A girl was dragged out, bound hands and a bag over her head.

_ Forget her… _

⭗⭗⭗

Something was off. 

But JD didn’t care. Didn’t have time to think about why Veronica’s cell door was open, or why one of the most qualified men in the kingdom just let himself fall down even though JD had made a  _ lot _ of noise running down the stairs. 

All he cared about was Veronica. 

He could barely feel her breathing as he carried her in his arms up the stairs. It felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest when he saw her lying there. 

They’d all be right. He had fallen in love with her. 

And now it might be too late.

But JD didn’t care. Forgot about the guards behind that steel door. 

Didn’t notice the sounds coming up the stairwell from behind him. 

But when he reached for the door, somebody called out “Wait!”

⭗⭗⭗

He didn’t really know what he was doing. 

“Let me go first.” The guard spread his hands in a gesture of surrender when the prince pulled the girl closer to his chest, eyes narrowing. 

“I can subdue them, and you can make your escape.” He didn’t mention how visible they would be. He had to hope they’d have a plan, because the words wouldn’t come up. 

All he could see was the face of his commander, the man who took him from a family he’d never know and made him a soldier. The man who taught him to harden his heart. 

The man who’d been locked up and executed for refusing to kill the young daughter of a "spy". 

He’d never get the opportunity to thank him. 

To tell him his heart hadn’t been hardened at all. It had only been scarred and lost in the shadows, trying to ignore the outside world. 

He couldn’t ignore it any more. 

Before the prince could reply, he pushed open the door. He had no weapons, and the men were carrying swords.

He probably wouldn’t survive. 

But they would. Maybe that was enough.

He would get to see the man who had become his father again. The only man who had ever meant anything. The only man who’d cared for him, who’d become his family. 

That was enough. 

He’d done enough.

For his people. For his country. 

For the future. 

⭗⭗⭗

“Wait!”

The words just slipped out of her mouth, because she couldn’t watch this happen. 

The King turned to her, eyes ablaze. 

_ Fuck forgetting. Protect her. Just her. Then you can let go.  _

Heather leant forwards, her lips just brushing the King’s ear. 

_ Give him what he wants _ . 

“Surely we could use her, your highness. Instead of killing her here, we give Westerburg the opportunity to save one of their princess’ dearest friends, in exchange for their surrender.

“Of course,” She added hastily, seeing his expression, “We would slaughter them anyway, no matter their answer. But this will make them weaker -”

“They would consider a peace, and therefore be easier to kill…” She hated the gleam in his eyes. 

Heather knew that was the exact same look she’d had just before H had confessed to loving her. 

“Indeed.” He called out to the court. “We will wait.” 

But as she turned to leave, he caught her wrist in his fingers, and Heather resisted the urge to gag. 

_ Give. Him. What. He… he… _

_ Breathe.  _

_ It’s nothing. Just a body. It doesn’t matter.  _

“Never speak against me so vocally again.” His voice was low, and he was still holding her hand. “I have been generous with my protection, but I will still… administer  _ punishment _ upon you should you question my authority.”

_ You protected her.  _

_ That’s all that matters. _

“Of course my sovereign.” Heather smiled, gently taking back her hand and leaving, determined not to look at the girl just saved from the noose. 

_ This time only, my friend.  _

_ This time only… _

⭗⭗⭗

The sun was blinding. 

Veronica was still lying on the forest floor, but most of the pain was gone and she could see again. JD thought he was being secretive with his worried glances, but the emotions were clear to see on his face.

“I’m fine.” She muttered, pulling herself up and waving away his arm. “Just need some more water.”

Ok. This was fine. They were fine. 

Veronica still trusted him, but the voice in the back of her head wouldn’t go away. The voice that suspected everyone and didn’t believe in fairytales. 

She didn’t know how he’d got her out, and she didn’t want to ask or know. 

She didn’t want her fears to be realised. 

“JD -”

“I’m sorry.” He looked guilty, and it made the voice grow louder. “I’m sorry, Veronica.”

“For?”

He took a breath, stepping towards her and swinging his arms like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. “I got a letter… from Heather. You’d gone missing and they’d figured out - with my sister's help I guess - that my father had taken you.”

Veronica frowned, sitting cross-legged on the grass. “Why are you sorry then?” If she was taking a secret to her grave, it would be how she’d imagined he was ever involved. 

“Because I used… I used Heather to get you out. Not the, erm, Heather with the blonde hair. Other Heather.”

“I know three Heathers.”

“Black hair, dark skin -”

“H?” Veronica stared up at him, hand on her forehead to hide the glare of the sun. “What do you mean, you  _ used  _ her?”

JD sat down next to her, not meeting her gaze. “She’s in my father's jail.”

It took Veronica a moment to think through the logical conclusion to that sentence.

Then she leapt to her feet, swaying slightly as the blood rushed to her head. “I’m sorry, you fucking  _ scapegoated _ my friend? Did you fucking kidnap her -”

“What?” He stood up too, catching her hands. “No. I  _ met _ her in Dekanus. I have no idea what she was doing there. The other other Heather, Mac I think, was the one who delivered the letter. She said that H had asked her to deliver it, but Heather had written the letter.” JD let go and rubbed his forehead. “Can you please get some other friends that aren’t all fucking called Heather.”

H was in Dekanus? 

The fuck was she doing there?

Veronica could never imagine her trying to engineer an escape plan by herself. H never even left the castle to go to market, it didn’t make sense for her to travel across kingdoms. 

But she couldn’t move past what JD had said first. And she hated how her heart had leapt when he grabbed her hands. 

“You have to make a choice, JD.” Veronica turned away from him, not wanting to see his face. “Your father or Westerburg. If you tell me his plan, I can go back and warn my parents. I’ll take your horse. You go back to Dekanus, free H and find out why she was there. If she’s a traitor…” Veronica faltered, not wanting to say the next part. “If she  _ is _ a traitor, leave her behind. Go with your father and his army, then find me in the fight.

“Or,” She looked over her shoulder, trying to replicate Heather’s ice-cold stare. “You leave me in the woods, kill me, do whatever you want; join your father and let hundred of innocents die in his pursuit of power.”

It was his eyes that she’d noticed first. In the stories, it was the ocean blue eyes that sucked you in and drowned you, till you were lost in the waves forever. Or the green eyes, letting you dance in the forest till your feet were so tired you could never go home - but you didn’t want to leave anyway. 

Those descriptions had always kind of scared her. 

But JD’s eyes were just brown. Except they made her feel safe. Like when you wake up to a beautiful sunrise and everything feels at peace. When you can run through the corridors of the palace as a child, charming servants and dancing through sunbeams. 

Veronica couldn’t focus on how she felt. She had a duty; to her people. To the safety of her family and kingdom. 

JD wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the floor. 

She didn’t want to know what he was thinking. 

They’d kissed in this forest. Her first kiss. Everything had been alright then. At peace. She’d been too focused on the beautiful sunrise to see the storm clouds rolling in, too busy dancing to see the spies and soldiers hiding in dark corners.

Lying in a cell, letting seconds become years, feeling her life slip away - it had made her realise that they could never be.

Veronica would never run away with him. Not because she was scared, not because she would miss her family, but because she could never knowingly let those on the other side of the forest win. 

“Choose, JD. Before it’s too late and we’re left in the rubble of my family's tomb.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy so this chapter was hard to write. I must have started and stopped and deleted about five times. Hope the end result was worth all that. 
> 
> Regardless, we're getting to my favourite parts of the story, by which I mean the parts that will be incredibly hard to write and (hopefully) fun to read. 
> 
> [ say hi :) ](http://scones-and-slushies.tumblr.com/)  
> x


	11. For Love Of God Seems Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been a while. 
> 
> Sorry guys. 
> 
> But enjoy this ramble :)

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

⭗⭗⭗

That fucking  _ arsehole _ .

Veronica stalked through the forest, not caring how she looked or felt - there was no time for that. Yeah, her clothes were ripped and dirty, she stunk after all that time in a hot cell, but there was nobody around to see her. 

And besides, the storm inside her mind was more than enough to keep her occupied. 

She couldn’t believe she’d been such a fool. 

God. That little  _ shit _ .

Stupidly, foolishly, like a little naive girl…

A part of her - no, most of her, if she was being honest - thought he would  _ actually _ choose her. 

After all, for everything that Bud had done to her, he’d been doing that to JD his entire life.

How could you side with a tyrant over a nation of innocents? The tyrant who saw you as nothing but an heir he could control, who abused your mother (well technically Veronica could only get that from context clues but yeah true), who controlled every aspect of your sister and your people’s lives. The tyrant who’d nearly killed your -

Well, she didn’t know what she was to JD.

She’d thought they were friends. She’d hoped they could be more.

But now…

⭗⭗⭗

How  _ could _ JD side with his tyrant father over a nation of innocents?

Well they weren’t really innocent, were they?

They were both riding home, but in opposite directions. Opposite powers. Opposite lives. Opposite rules.

That’s what Veronica thought. 

He wasn’t so sure. 

⭗⭗⭗

Hadn’t he cared for her? Hadn’t she shown him her home, shown him her people? He’d been among them; they’d saved his sister (again technically Veronica had saved Naomi and not her people, but whatever stop being picky) and asked nothing for it. 

⭗⭗⭗

His heart was pulling him in reverse. Practically every part of him wanted to turn and follow her, to apologise, to spend just another minute in her company. 

But his sister was still in hiding. She was no safer in Westerburg than she was at home. His mother lived in a palace of fear and isolation. He had to fix that. Veronica wanted him to go back; back to his father, back to his prison. To be her spy. 

JD didn’t know what he wanted. 

⭗⭗⭗

Veronica wasn’t kidding herself. She knew she was no great warrior princess, no incredible leader, able to inspire with a single speech like Mark Antony or charm generals with the grace of Cleopatra. But she was all her people had. 

⭗⭗⭗

Nobody in Dekanus was loyal. 

It was a hierarchy. 

At the bottom were the nobodies (ironically, the country was mostly made up  _ of _ nobodies, but unless you can point me to a country that’s practically all gentry I’ll call this normal); peasants, vagabonds, homeless, etc etc. They had no land. They had no money. They had no way of making themselves beautiful. They were powerless. 

If you were at the bottom, you couldn’t rise. You would work the brothels until you got pregnant, or caught a disease, or you’d collapse in the fields and the cycle would repeat for generations to come. Why struggle and strive? Why try to rise above it all? Nothing changed.

Power went up through inconsequential landlords and merchants and yeomen until you reached the old money. They were just the same as the peasants, only richer and older and prettier and weaker because they’d never worked a day in their life. Their families had always been rich, and would always be rich. Why work? Why take notice of everybody below you? Nothing changed.

At the top was the King. His father. Theoretically, all the royals should be on the same level (or at least all the men, burn the patriarchy, etc etc), but everybody knew that was bullshit. And why would Bud be merciful? Care for his kingdom? Nothing changed. 

JD didn’t know how to be loyal. Nobody had taught him. He was thrust straight into a world of power and betrayal and prestige and cruelty and nobility and death and riches and prison. 

Maybe he was betraying her. 

He didn’t know. 

Maybe he could ask his father to define betrayal. 

⭗⭗⭗

Veronica knew that Westerburg wasn’t perfect. There were poor people. Her parents were disconnected. But no society was  _ perfect _ . Hell, two of her four best friends (well three really, the McNamara’s might have served nobility for generations but they weren’t  _ rich _ ) were from poverty, and they rose. They flourished. You couldn’t do that under a dictator. 

⭗⭗⭗

JD knew Westerburg was better than Dekanus, but only because they were better at hiding. The poor were more isolated. The nobility had some commoners mixed in. It was a careful balance. 

Bud didn’t care that people thought he was a tyrant. Veronica’s parents did. Reputation mattered. 

That’s why they only saved the grateful ones. Married off their daughter to the right people. Made sure people saw the royals as benevolent, and not what they really were. 

Because,  _ technically _ , they were just lucky motherfuckers from an old family that had no more right to be on the throne than anybody else. 

⭗⭗⭗

In previous generations, Westerburg had been built on religion. But the Sawyers pried the kingdom away from the greed of Churches, and nobody called them divine monarchs. 

But, if you considered everything her family had done for the people, Veronica couldn’t blame anybody for holding that opinion.

Yes, her parents had flaws.

⭗⭗⭗

Yes, his father had flaws. 

⭗⭗⭗

But everybody could change. And her parents  _ were _ changing. 

⭗⭗⭗

But at least his father didn’t hide those flaws under beautiful clothes and kind daughters and lower taxes. 

⭗⭗⭗

H had been in plenty an awkward situation. Like that time when she was collecting Veronica’s jacket from the cloakroom because the princess requested it be washed only to be accosted by the Chief Minister of Staff who tried to -

Well, he ended up with a broken nose and she was almost fired until Veronica stepped in and kindly reminded him about his wife’s pregnancy and how easy it was to startle a woman in her state. 

It had been pretty cold, actually, Looking back, it was probably Heather’s words. She’d forgotten to thank her at the time. 

Or that time before everything, when the baker caught her stealing bread and, once he realised she was a young girl and on the brink of starvation had been prepared to let her go and have the loaf, until, a castle guard stepped in to demand punishment and she had to run away, breaking her ankle when she leapt over a wall.

That had put her out of action for 10 weeks.

Neither of those times compared to now, chained to a horse and dragged behind the majestic Dekanus army, fully aware that somewhere in the horde of soldiers was the bitch with golden hair who had managed to stop her execution by moving it forward like, a week. 

Bullshit. 

She’d give anything to have that broken ankle back. 

⭗⭗⭗

JD didn’t know what he wanted. 

Maybe to watch everything burn. Revenge without consequence. That would be nice. Set it all on fire. Walk away, not unscathed, but with no visible scars. 

A nice dream. 

And if his father died, he could live with Veronica. 

Maybe. If her parents didn’t execute him on sight.

⭗⭗⭗

There was a story Ziro had loved to tell that Heather had always hated. 

A young man wanted to save his family from poverty. So he gave his heart away to an enchantress, who sent him ten chests of gold coins and rubies every year. 

He  _ literally _ gave his heart away, just so you know. She locked it in a silver cage. 

So the family were rich, and the young man became an eligible bachelor. He found a young woman who he’d loved before it all and married her. She didn’t refuse. He was stinking rich, young and handsome. Totally her type. 

But no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t find those feeling again. All he felt was nothing. 

So, because he remembered loving the woman and wanted to do so again, he told her of the enchantress. She was disturbed, but his motivations were noble and he hadn’t been cruel with his newfound fortune, so she didn’t really mind. 

His wife suggested that, since he had more than enough money to last a lifetime, he should just find the enchantress and request his heart back, if she didn’t send him any more money.

Of course, his wife was a fucking dumbass who had never read a fairytale in her life, but forgive her. She is just a plot point in pretty robes. 

So the young man and his wife journeyed to the enchantresses’ castle, because there is an unspoken law that enchantresses may only live in caves or castles, and asked to cease the arrangement. 

And of  _ course _ , she said no, because nothing is ever that easily accomplished. 

The enchantress also had control of the man's heart, so she made it cruel and dark and twisted. He blamed his wife for getting his hopes up, for dragging him here, for making him feel bad about the deal and for existing in the first place. He attacked her. 

Now, his wife did have some brains, so she managed to run away without falling over. She did run deeper into the castle, instead of leaving altogether, but nobody's perfect. 

The wife reached the enchantresses’ dungeon, which was obviously left unlocked, and found her husband's heart, in a cage lit only by a single castle. By this point, her hubby had found himself an axe and was about to kill her. 

Though it hurt her, she took the candle and burnt her husband's heart. He dropped dead. This made the enchantress predictably angry, because dark magic requires deals with evil spirits that aren’t so easily broken, so she cursed the wife to feel the pain of her heart on fire for the rest of her life. 

Heather had never liked that story.

But for the first time, as she imagined H being dragged behind them, she could feel a pain akin to her own heart being on fire.

⭗⭗⭗

Fire. Naomi had tried to play with fire once. 

_ “It just looked so pretty,” _ , she’d said, “ _ I just wanted to play with it _ .”

She’d been burnt. 

She didn’t deserve it. She was just a little girl playing with ghosts in the ashes of a black castle. 

But JD could see the torches up ahead. The light of the flames spilling through the trees.  _ Something is here _ , they whispered, dancing in all the colours of the sun.  _ Something is about to happen. _

_ Will you do anything about it _ ?

_ Hell is empty; the devils are marching... _

Maybe he was just going insane. 

Maybe he would have become his father, if he’d gotten the chance. Maybe he would be marching with them, proud of the evil that trailed him. 

Maybe he was already becoming his father.

Maybe he could have loved Veronica, if he’d gotten the chance. Maybe he would be riding with her heart in his hands, ready to die for her.

Maybe he already loved her. He’d let somebody die for her. Somebody whose name he didn’t even know. A body outside of a tower. Inconsequential.

Maybe that’s what the guard had thought, as he fell. 

But JD couldn’t forget the lines of his face, the glow of his eyes - that man knew he was dying. He didn’t seem that frightened. 

Fire…

He was tired. He was rambling. He was drunk, having found a bottle buried in one of Slushie’s packs. Even dregs can mess up your mind. 

JD wanted Bud to burn, like Naomi had burnt. He wanted Veronica to burn, like his heart had burnt. 

He wanted the world to burn, like some great villain in a long-forgotten fairytale.

⭗⭗⭗

Veronica could see her castle, a silhouette against the stars. She counted off the constellations as she walked - a distraction. 

Gemini, Cygnus, Cassiopeia…

How could JD, having seen all of this, leave it behind?

Leave  _ her _ behind?

⭗⭗⭗

If the world is made of ashes, he mused, stumbling through the woods and collapsing against a tree, a stone’s throw away from his father's sleeping army - if the world is made of ashes because you burnt everything down…

Are you technically leaving anything behind?

⭗⭗⭗

The cuffs were dragging against her skin. H could feel it flaking away. She’d never been in this much pain. 

It was dull. But continuous. In the same way that a blunt sword hurts more than a sharp one, small pain that lasts a lifetime hurts more than a quick hanging. 

She wanted to scream. But she’d been screaming for the last hour and her throat hurt and there was a gag in her mouth. 

H could see the outline of the stars from a gap in the door of her tent. She wondered who else was looking at them.

⭗⭗⭗

The first guard who saw her nearly stabbed her. 

“Halt!” Veronica yelled, momentarily shocked by how rusty her voice was. “Halt.” She tried again, lower, quieter. “It’s me.”

“Your majesty?” The guards eyes widened, and then she felt her knees give way, and the ground grew closer…

And closer…

And closer…

And everything just went -

  
  
  


Black…

⭗⭗⭗

How did it come to this?

That’s what people would say on the streets.

How did it come to this?

Heather didn’t have the answer. Maybe nobody did. Maybe those who could tell didn’t, because to tell the people all your secrets is to lose the support of the people, and to lose the support of the people is to lose your power. 

But how did it come to this? 

Lying on the grass, staring at the stars surrounded by enemies. Waiting for the sky to crack open. 

Waiting for the punchline. 

Waiting for her future self to show up and tell her it was the right decision, to betray her country and her best friend and the girl she couldn’t admit she loved, to risk everything to get here just so she wouldn’t die and then risk it all again because there was a silken rope swinging in the breeze. 

How did it come to this?

⭗⭗⭗

“Shhh.” A woman whispered, as Veronica groaned and tried to sit up. There was something cool on her forehead. The ground felt too soft to be ground.

“Mum?” She muttered, sitting up straight to find a woman with soft blue eyes sitting in golden robes at the end of her bed, hands crossed. A towel fell to the floor beside her.

Her mother smiled, in the way she always smiled, with care but a limited supply of patience, and Veronica would have jumped into her arms if she didn’t feel like she’d been run over by a horse. 

Truly shocking that almost dying in a cell then walking like a billion miles through steep woodland in the span of three days would have an effect on the body. 

You can’t see it, but I’m rolling my eyes. 

“Lie down, Veronica.” Catherine said, standing and crossing over to the door. “You need your rest; we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Veronica lay down, but she couldn’t close her eyes. There were cracks in her ceiling that she always counted but never got the end of -

There were no cracks in this ceiling. 

It was made of grey stones. 

And it was cold. 

And the door her mother had just walked through was made of bars.

“Mum!” She tried to move, but ended up falling to the floor in a pile of blankets and was forced to drag herself over the door. “Mum! What the hells going on!”

Catherine didn’t answer - she just left. But Veronica kept screaming anyway, until she was hoarse.

The guard had already spoken to her. Told her this was ‘for her own protection’.

But nobody was listening. 

“Listen…” She moaned, collapsing onto the floor. “You have to listen to me mum…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit confusing, I know. Not much happened, I also know. 
> 
> Don't worry. Gets better. Lots of death. War. Etc etc etc. 
> 
> [ say hi :) ](http://scones-and-slushies.tumblr.com/)


	12. Two Paths Are Before Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long story short, it was a bad time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's been another long while. I am extremely sorry. Mocks, life, the government making me get fucking whiplash with the directions they take covid restrictions, November 5th (you'll get that if you're on tumblr) etc etc.
> 
> Regardless, I have a break these holidays, so maybe another chapter (maybe. like in january)
> 
> Enjoy!

“And I’m telling you that I swear I saw the Queen going to the tower!”

“That makes no sense, Mac. The Queen never does anything that a servant can do for her.”

“Martha!”

“Forgive me, love, but my best friend is gone and everyone is acting strange and I’m scared! I don’t…”

When she was seven, Naomi had stopped breathing. She’d done it herself. Held her breath just to see what would happen. If she was important, her child-self had reasoned, then somebody would stop her. Nevermind she was alone in her room. 

Who was she testing? Back then she hadn’t been sure. She still didn’t know now.

Luckily, her brother had come looking and found her lying on the floor, holding her nose and going purple, eyes watering from the pain. He’d been calm, helping her breathe again. He taught her to focus on different things in the room, any time she got scared. Count the stones in the wall. Focus on the things that don’t matter, and for a moment it feels like the things that do don’t exist.

Naomi was trying to do that now, counting all the cracks in Veronica’s ceiling. But the sounds of Mac and Martha arguing was a constant distraction. And she missed JD. And she didn’t know what was happening. Was there a war on the horizon? Everybody was certainly acting like there was. Mac had taken into Veronica’s room, in the guise of a servant, but they’d been in there for two hours now, arguing pointlessly. 

“Can we just… stop?” She sat up, running a hand through her hair. “This is pointless. We don’t know where Veronica is, we don’t know where Heather and Heather are, we don’t know what’s happening but suddenly everybody has a sword and I’m quite frankly fucking scared.”

“I heard somebody say there was an army in the woods.” Mac shrugged. “But we would have been told, surely.”

Her father wouldn’t have told the people. He would have used the peasants as a buffer whilst amassing his forces. But supposedly the royals here were more benevolent. 

“If Mac thought she saw the Queen going in the tower,” Naomi said, sliding off the bed and walking towards them, “Then we should go look. It’s not like we have anything better to do.”

They both looked at her, then shrugged in unison. “Fair point.” Martha said, smoothing down her rose dress and passing Naomi a black cloak as she opened the door. Mac followed her out.

Naomi stopped at the threshold, looking back at the room of the princess across the forest. It wasn’t that much different to her own. A bigger fire, a nicer bed, more clothes, but there was nothing… personal, about it. If Veronica had objects that meant something to her, they were hidden away.

Naomi had wondered about the girl her brother claimed to love, because it wasn’t as if their brief meetings had contained thoughtful discussions. But she’d found out nothing of any value. And it made her realise that she didn’t actually know JD. She didn’t know his heart, at least.

“Are you coming, Naomi?” Mac put a hand on her shoulder, making her jump. But she followed them anyway, not paying attention to where they were going. 

Realistically, she knew that Westerburg should win. They were kinder. People suffered less. The kingdom wasn’t run by a tyrant.

But…

Even though most of her childhood had been terrible, it just made the beautiful moments stand out more. Like a brief flash of sunlight through the dense cloud of darkness. The awful parts blurred together, but her most treasured memories were clearer than the present she found herself in.

And even in an evil kingdom, there was good. Good people, who tried and cared and didn’t always get it right but kept going anyway. People like her brother, who had somehow kept his heart. Her mother, who smiled through her tears and bruises. Those who sung as they hung out the washing and ploughed the fields. Life was hard. But the kingdom still had a soul.

Dekanus was her home. And she didn’t want to see it in flames. She didn’t want to believe an army was hiding in the trees, waiting to pounce. She could believe it of her father (she could believe anything of her father). But Naomi didn’t want to believe it of the people. 

Where was JD? Her mother? Anybody? Everything was going wrong and the worst part was she didn’t quite know what  _ had _ changed, only that something big had.

They stopped at the base of the tower, a steel door guarded by two burly figures with less weapons that Naomi would have suspected. A simple spear and scabbard, and barely any armour.

Of course, their weapons were a mute point, because the scowls that lit their faces told Naomi there was no way they would let a fugitive, a noble and a servant pass by them.

“We can’t sneak in.” Mac whispered, hidden by the doorway. “This is the only entrance.”

“Well then this was pointless.” Martha whispered from behind a suit of armour further down the corridor. “We should just find the Queen and ask her.”

“Why would the Queen tell you anything?” Naomi retorted, not caring how that sounded. “There has to be another way in.”

“There isn’t. This is for political prisoners and traitors who they don’t want to execute right away.”

No…

They couldn’t have somehow got him…

But they could ransom the Prince of Dekanus. They could torture him to find out information about their daughter. They could do what they liked, but it would be stupid to execute such a valuable prisoner.

There’s no way, she thought. They couldn’t have got JD. He was at home. Bud would never stand for such a thing. He’d sent JD here as a spy… or something. Regardless, he was keeping track of his son. JD couldn’t be locked up in some tower.

“I have to get in there.” She muttered, but nobody heard. 

When in doubt, act rashly? Naomi was sure she’d heard that saying before. Even if she’d just made it up, it applied to her current situation.

Casting a glance of apology at the two girls behind her, she picked up a chipped piece of tile from the floor, cocked her arm and threw it at the suit of armour Martha hid behind.

The helmet wobbled, and for a moment she thought nothing would happen. Then, agonisingly slow, it tipped and met the floor with an almighty crash. The guards started, and just as she’d hoped, they both moved to investigate.

Naomi didn’t waste time glancing at Mac and Martha. She darted between the two guards and threw open the doors, hearing shouts behind her.

Now, despite what her recent actions might convey, Naomi wasn’t an idiot. She knew that whoever it was the Queen had been visiting must have been important, and therefore at the top of the tower. If she tried to run all the way up the stairs, they’d catch her. 

But that was probably exactly what they expected her to do. Not duck into an alcove with a brick, wait for the first guard to pass, crash the stone over the head of the second, grab the spear from their now-unconscious form and watch them tumble down the stairs. Which was exactly what she did. 

The other one turned to face her, spear in hand. They advanced, but JD had taught her how to fight. And especially how to fight on the stairs, because it was her favourite scene from a beloved children's story. Having just found the location of her prince, the warrior changes from her dragon form and fights the black knight on the stairs of the ruined castle.

There’s a lot of context there. I’m  _ not _ going to explain it, so let your imagination run wild.

The guard stared at her, swinging their sword. Naomi ducked, rammed the spear against the back of their leg and pushed them down the stairs after their partner.

…

Ok full disclosure, I have no idea how Naomi knocked out two fully-grown humans with swords and spears and armour, and I have dramatically oversimplified that particular fight, but only because she wouldn’t tell me how. So just trust that two guards were left somewhere on the stairs bruised and asleep, and the psychopath ninja continued her ascent. Maybe she poisoned them. I’ll let you speculate, because I’ve been doing it half my life.

The tower was tall, and by the time she reached the top Naomi was panting. There had been floors, but all the cells were empty until the top one (which admittedly was weird but she didn’t stop to question it).

There, sitting on a bed of straw with her head in her hands, was Veronica. 

“Veronica?” Naomi started, gripping the bars. The princess barely raised her head as she let out a dry laugh. 

“What are you doing here, enemy princess?” 

“What are  _ you _ doing in the tower? Mac said she saw your mum go up here - fuck, did your  _ parents _ put you in here? And what’s with the attitude?” Naomi bent down and examined the lock. “How do I get you out of here?”

“Don’t bother. Where did the guard go?”

“Guard?” Naomi gripped the spear and spun around, but the tower was completely empty apart from her and Veronica. “There’s nobody here.”

“Well, whatever.” Veronica lay back on the bed. “Just fuck off back home to your shit of a brother and come burn my home down because you’re all actually as evil as they say. I hope you enjoy dancing on my parents grave with your bastard father.”

Naomi blinked in shock, letting go of the lock she’d been trying to pick. 

“I’m sorry, but what the  _ fuck _ ?”

“You heard me.” The princess got up, but Naomi could see she was shaking. Her face was drawn and pale, and she was covered in marks that might have been bruises or might have been dirt. “Look at me. Do you think I chose to be locked up for  _ fun _ ? None of this would have happened if you could just leave our kingdom alone.”

“What the hell happened to you? Where’s JD?”

“Being a despicable traitor and marching with your father to murder innocents in a selfish bid for power.”

“JD would  _ never _ march with our father on Westerburg.” Naomi was surprised by the venom behind her words, but she didn’t care. Veronica was just staring. “And why would he betray you? I though he l-”

She caught herself, but Veronica laughed anyway. “It’s alright. You can say it. I thought he did too. But I guess not.”

“If JD is with my father, he was forced to be there. He’s protecting somebody.”

“Right. And he definitely didn’t abandon me in the forest when I asked him to come with me to Westerburg with no pressure and no threats to help us defeat his father after he’d just rescued me from brutal imprisonment by  _ your _ father.” She took a breath and laughed again. “That definitely wasn’t what happened.”

Naomi took a slight step back. Then narrowed her eyes. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“And I don’t give a shit.” Veronica shrugged. “But there is an invasion coming. So you can keep pretending you’re on our side or fuck off to your tyrant family. Doesn’t bother me. Maybe JD will take me prisoner. I could be his little slave, ready to come at his beck and -”

“Won’t you just  _ shut. Up _ .” Naomi growled, gripping the bars. Even in her state, Veronica looked so collected, the insults just rolling off her tongue. A perfect princess. 

But Naomi was glad for her anger. Nobody insulted her brother. He was one of the only good things.   
  
“Oh, come  _ on _ traitor.” Veronica smiled. “Are you seriously going to pretend you’re not involved in your fathers plan? What are you, another spy? Another part of your brothers scheme to try and make me fall for him?”

“If JD told you he loved you, he was  _ not _ lying.”

“Well he didn’t, Naomi. And now I’m in a cell and he’s riding a warhorse, ready to murder  _ my _ people.”

“You didn’t show such care for  _ your _ people when you started an affair with the enemy prince.”

“It was  _ not _ an affair.”

“You were engaged!”

“Well my fucking suitors are in love with each  _ other _ , so realistically who was in the wrong here? I took you out of kindness -”

“Or did you just want to bed my brother out of a selfish desire for rebellion.”

“Excuse you -”

“No, excuse  _ you _ , princess.” Naomi had to concentrate on not reaching through the bars and slapping this bitch across the face. “You have  _ no _ idea what my brother and I went through every day. And by some miracle, he still has a fucking soul. He  _ cares _ . If he was here right now, he’d just take what pathetic insults a little sheltered brat was throwing at him and he’d free you all the same. I’m more convinced I should just leave you here to rot. I’ve known JD my entire fucking life, and how long have you known him? Like, a month, or however long this stupid shit between you has been going on. So trust me when I say that I honestly thought JD loved you, though for the life of me I can’t imagine  _ why _ , and even if he didn’t, he fucking  _ cared _ , and he wouldn’t abandon you without good reason.”

Veronica just stared for a long time. Then looked down, chuckled slightly, and smirked at Naomi through the bars. 

“Sure, princess. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

⭗⭗⭗

It was getting harder to look out for H. There was no conspicuous way to check up on a prisoner's well-being, especially if you were the one who stopped her execution in the nick of time.

The army had stopped in the middle of the woods, the camp mostly lit by stars. She’d been lying on the grass outside her tent for two hours, wrapped in red silk and feeling melancholy. How was Veronica doing right about now? Was she home? Safe? 

“My lady.” Heather opened one eye to find a young guard standing above her, sheepishly rubbing his neck. She recalled his name was Leo. Son of a great general or something.

Looking at his stick-figure frame, Heather couldn’t imagine the family receiving any further glory in the coming battle.

“Yes?” She sighed, standing and brushing grass off of her skirt. “Do you have a good reason for disturbing my peace or will I have to punish you in some way?”

The boy blushed bright red and stammered. “A - Apologies, my lady, but his esteemed royal highness requires your presence.”

Esteemed royal highness, Heather chuckled to herself as she followed the boy across the camp to the massive tent in the middle. Did he know how ridiculous that sounded?

When she pushed open the flap, Bud was alone, in a loose shirt and shorts polishing his sword (and that is  _ not _ a euphemism). She could see a hint of muscle through a gap in the fabric, but though she appreciated that he obviously had some athletic talent, Heather wasn’t one for old men drunk on their own power.

“You called, your majesty?”

“I did.” He didn’t look at her, only kept cleaning the steel until it gleamed, then stood. “I did."

She raised an eyebrow. 

And then, when he started walking towards her, she understood.

_ Huh. Took him long enough. _

Bud put an arm on one of the beams above them, bending over Heather. She stayed standing tall, even when he put a hand on her jaw and ran a finger over her lips.

This was fine. Expected. She could just forget herself. How many men had tried? How many men - and women - had she let touch her? Countless. This was just another body, and she’d have even more power. 

As the King leant down to kiss her, Heather tried to close her eyes, and her mind. But the face of Veronica swam in front of her, and then as she watched, the eyes turned chocolate brown, the hair turned black and she was looking at H, smiling. 

Heather didn’t remember this. Didn’t remember the flowers at their feet, the bright sun and H smiling as she twirled and laughed, green dress and natural curls spilled about her head like a halo. Reaching for Heather’s waist and kissing her, spinning them both round. 

That was like no memory she had. But the warmth in her heart was real.

Heather gripped Bud’s wrist, nails pushing into his skin, then threw his arm off her, sprinting from the tent, sure that there were tears in her eyes and sure that everything was ruined and not caring where she was going until she slammed into somebody walking through the gap between tents. 

Queen Cephy smiled, eyes soft and hair in a wispy bun. It was obvious she could guess what had happened.

“Dear -”

“Oh  _ don’t _ .” Heather snarled, trying to shove past. “Even if I didn’t fuck your husband, the fact that he wanted me to should show you enough.”

As she left, Cephy grabbed her wrist, pressing a small metal key into her palm. It was cold to the touch. 

“I hope you make the right choice… my lady.”

Heather stared after her for a moment, then shook her head and clenched her fingers around the key, not sure she wanted to confirm what - or who - it would unlock. She made her way back to her tent, sure to avoid any human contact. 

She fell back on the bed pad, breathing heavily. 

That had never happened before. She didn’t dream. Didn’t fantasise. As a child she’d made herself sick, imaging herself as the heroine or the villain or even a side character from Ziro’s stories. And then, when her heart started to beat faster every time her hand brushed Veronica’s, she’d started to imagine again. Imagine a life with her. Sharing her heart, her bed, her everything. 

Heather could have made a lovely bride. What a shame she was fucked in the head.

She couldn’t get her heart to stop racing. Her mouth felt dry. There was a coldness falling all over her, and it felt like she was sinking. Was this what it felt like to drown? Spending your life paddling, trying to break the surface, but the currents pull you down and flip you over and tangle you in a web of water, the waves crashing and thrashing and pounding in her ears in her throat there was a strange buzzing everywhere. She was sinking, falling, flying into the empty sky, the depths of the oceans filled with Heather’s laughter, Veronica’s eyes, her parents' smiles and Ziro’s stories. Every horrible memory, every moment of emptiness, everything forgotten for a reason - they called to her. Wanted her. Wanted to consume her and swallow her whole and take over her until there was nothing left but an empty, dry shell, deprived of tears and pain and heartache and she just felt like  _ nothing _ .

She was flying through the empty, blue sky, so  _ so _ vast. She was falling in the shadows, feeling the wind brush past her ears. She was drowning, amongst strange creatures who spent their lives crushed by the water above. But there was a blissful silence. A second of peace. 

Was this what it felt like? To… end?

Then her lungs filled with water, her ears started to bleed and her eyes hurt from so much emptiness. There was nothing but the pain and the memories and every single hand that had ever held her, every pair of lips she’d ever kissed and the two she’d never dared to touch, the only two she’d ever wanted and tried to forget, tried to hurt, tried to leave behind and betray and stain and ruin and run from. Voices, all around her and in her ears, and there was acid in her throat and she knew she was throwing up but she couldn’t smell anything except her own flesh burning up from the pain and soon there was no smell and she was chasing that emptiness because she remembered the peace she was certain of that but it was gone and there were clouds in the sky and there was fire in the darkness and the ocean had gone dry and she was just lying there choking on air and she’d never felt like this before and she wondered if she’d kept everything down for so long to stop feeling like this but keeping things down had only fed the emptiness and she wants somebody to tell her this would be okay but nobody ever did and Ziro was dead and H was gone and there was a burning smell in the air...

And she was chasing that emptiness…

And it was there…

And she was gone...

⭗⭗⭗

Her wrists were bleeding. The skin was peeling from around the cuffs, and everything was sore. Her hands were blistered. Her throat was dry. 

Dean certainly knew how to treat a girl. 

She was in a tent, a guard standing in front of her, dark brown skin and vicious scowl. There was a scar running down the diagonal of his face. H decided not to ask how he got it. 

The guard wasn’t speaking. She’d heard somebody refer to him as Milner, but that didn’t suit his face. Too polite. 

H had been squatting in silence for an hour, unable to sit because the chains that bound her were too short. The night was cold, and she was shivering in the thin cloth, unable to rub her arms or do anything else to chase away the chill.

The tent flap moved slightly - probably just a gust of wind, but she saw the shoulders of her guard tighten. 

Then a figure charged into the tent, and H couldn’t see anything but a dagger but whoever was holding it was an idiot, because this giant of a man would probably snap their neck.

And then, this brute standing in front of her, with muscles bigger than any she’d ever seen, with scars and two swords hanging from his hips and an -

Sorry, I got a tad excited. I may have probably exaggerated Milner’s ferociousness, but the point remains.

Her guard stepped aside. 

The figure was shocked, too. They halted, but moved forwards all the time, coming towards her. She still couldn’t see their face. 

But as a strip of moonlight fell through one of the patches in the roof, they were illuminated to reveal black curls and dark eyes and the face she’d decided to murder if she ever saw it again. 

H’s fists immediately clenched.

“JD.” She snarled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, Heather isn't dead. 
> 
> Writing this story after so long, escpecially now we're at the parts I love the most, was just the best relaxation ever. Thanks for sticking around for so long folks. 
> 
> [ say hi :) ](http://scones-and-slushies.tumblr.com/)


	13. You Should Not Have Taken Advantage Of My Sensibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To steal into my affections without my consent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who recognises where the title/summary quote is from (it's historical) gets a virtual cookie (shortbreak, cause they're superior)

“Just hurry up, would you?” H hissed, trying not to sound so aggressive that JD would be inclined to leave her half-chained up and in more pain than before.

Who would have thought that taking off handcuffs hurt so much?

“Give me a minute.” He muttered back, trying to work the key into the lock. He kept shooting worried glances at the guard, who was just watching them without comment. H didn’t get why he was so worried. If - Milner? She wanted to say Milner - was going to attack them, he would definitely have done it already. 

JD huffed, unclipping the lock and throwing the cuffs to the floor. He knelt down to start undoing the final chain at her waist, but she grabbed the keys and rolled her eyes. 

“You were taking too long. What are you doing here? Where’s Veronica? Oh, also -” She stood up, rubbed her wrists and then promptly slapped him round the face. “You’re a fucking arsehole and I do hope you rot in hell for the rest of your days.”

“I deserved that.” He grimaced, casting another look at - fuck it, she was just going with the guard. “Hey, Milner, erm…”

Oh, so it was Milner? Still didn’t suit his disposition.

Milner stared at them for a second, then ducked under the tent flap, though H could still see the shadow of his boots at the door.

“Where’s Veronica?” She scowled, trying not to look down at her wrists. Even seeing the skin rubbed raw made her wince.

He ducked his head, looking almost embarrassed. “She’s in Westerburg. What happened to you?”

“Well, your  _ majesty _ , after you turned me over to the guards, I was almost executed, but then Heather - you remember Heather? Blonde, bitch, yeah well I think she’s fucking your father -”

“I’m sorry,  _ what _ ?”

“At the very least, she’s working with him. The guards won’t tell me anything -”

“Ms Chandler is the Royal Adviser.” Milner said from outside the tent, and whilst his name made no sense, his voice was just as rough and restrained as she would expect of a desert mercenary, or whatever the fuck he was. He certainly didn’t have a Dekanus accent.

JD looked confused. “That’s not a real position.”

“It’s bullshit. I think she promised him something.” Heather shrugged. “Regardless, I was going to be hung, but she stopped me so that I could be executed in Westerburg instead. More dramatic, I guess. And so I was then dragged behind the army for hours and locked in this tent, and now here I am.” She cocked her head at him. “Why aren’t you with Veronica?”

“I couldn’t just fuck off to her palace leaving my father alive.” There was a strange fire in his eyes. H felt sick. It was probably the starvation.

“How noble of you, to protect a nation of innocents -”

“I don’t care about that.” He was clearly lying, but whatever. “I just want to see my father burn. Besides, not everyone there is innocent.”

She raised an eyebrow, but then her vision blurred and she had to sit down. 

“I’ll get you some water. And food.” There was a brief conversation outside of the tent, then Milner came in and sat down next to her.    
  


H looked at him, at the scar that ran across his face, at the deep brown of his eyes, and asked “Why are you here?”

Milner didn’t reply for a while, just looked up at the stars through the tent flap. If anybody came in, she was going to have to pretend she was dead or something. 

“I had a daughter.” He smiled, slightly. She saw the corners of his mouth go up. “She was killed by a man who sought my wife, but then my wife killed him as revenge.”

“Great story.”

“I am not of this kingdom. I owe the tyrant who rules no loyalty. He brought my sword and strength with coin, but he did not buy my heart. I am wise enough to know when it is time to betray my employer.”

They sat in silence for a minute, because H didn’t really know how to respond to that - sarcasm felt too insincere - then JD reappeared with a loaf and bottle that she gratefully downed, letting the water run over her cracked lips. “Don’t eat it all at once. You’ll just be sick.” 

She rolled her eyes, but broke off a small chunk. It felt like heaven, even though it was probably stale.

“So. Explain.”

⭗⭗⭗

**TWO HOURS EARLIER**

JD woke up with a splitting headache.

That wasn’t a surprise, considering he’d fallen asleep with a stomach holding nothing but beer, but as he winced at the torchlight and rubbed his temples it wasn’t exactly a welcome wake-up call.

The hangover would have to wait, though. He had more important things to do.

He slipped through the camp in peasant clothes, knowing that it would be better to cover his face but only a certain kind of people can pull off sneaking around in a cloak and hood. JD was not a certain kind of person.

It was night again, or it might have been the same night. He didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping for, but the army had only moved about half a mile to camp in a clearing - or maybe he’d been sleepwalking, the tree he’d woken up against  _ did _ look different - so it couldn’t have been that long

There were no guards posted outside of any tents until he reached the center of the camp, and though it was too dark to tell that much difference between the size of tents, he presumed the largest was his fathers. And there were plenty of spaces in the fabric he could sneak through without the guards seeing.

Whilst he was staggering drunk through the woods, JD had imagined many different ways the confrontation with his father would go. Yelling, fighting, crying - actually that one was what he wanted to avoid the most - calling for the guards, etc etc.

He hadn’t imagined standing up next to the wall, blinking in the sharp lamplight, only instead of seeing his father pacing, or sitting, or doing whatever dictators do when preparing for an invasion, he found his mother and - Mccord? Milner? No, Milner had the scar - fuck it, his mother and one of his bodyguards passionately kissing (the colloquial term would be making out but this is supposed to be a historical text, one must keep to a level of professionalism) (did I just fucking refer to myself as  _ one _ ) against the frame of the bed.

Not  _ in _ the bed, mind you, which would have been infinitely more comfortable. 

He stared for a minute, neither of them realising he was there, then coughed.

They broke apart, and the look in his mothers eyes was one he’d never have thought to see her wear.

“I-”

Cephy whispered something in - it was definitely Mccord - Mccord’s ear, who smirked, a gesture that for some reason pissed off JD more than finding his mother cheating. The guard left, and the Queen sat down, looking like the picture of perfections despite her crumpled clothes and messed-up hair.

JD wanted to slap her.

“I suppose you want an explanation.” She sighed. “It would be nice to know where your sister is, and what you’ve been doing all this time. I don’t think you’re going to judge me on this, considering how your father confides in you, but -”

“Fucking hell.” He interrupted, walking over. “I know what dad does. But I thought my mum was bet-”

She laughed, and for a moment he heard Veronica in it, then she shook her head. “I thought it was obvious by now, Jason. 

I’m not your mother, boy.”

⭗⭗⭗

“I don’t get what this has to do with anything.” H stared at JD, pacing back and forth across the entrance. “Your mum isn’t your mum, and instead your mum is some random whore peasant or whatever.”

“No, you don’t get it.” He knelt down in front of her, twisting his fingers. “Do you know who Kurt Kelly and Ram Sweeney are?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh. They’re not spies for your father are they? Of fucking course. They’re in love with each other by the way.”

He blinked, but gave no otherwise sign of shock. Too focused on whatever he’d discovered from his mother that had taken him a fucking hour to process, thereby leaving her in pain for even longer.

_ Thanks _ , Jason.

“Ok then. What are they spying on?”

“Christ, I don’t know. The King, the military -”

“No!” He shot up with such enthusiasm that it made her jump, starting to pace again. “That’s what I thought. My father didn’t tell me exactly, but it was pretty heavily implied. And now you’re like, ok, what the fuck are they even in Westerburg for then.” (That was, indeed, what H was thinking. JD is a psychic now) “ They’re spying on the Queen.”

“The  _ Queen _ ?” H stood up, brushing the crumbs from her chest. “The Queen doesn’t care about war. She just throws parties and occasionally has people exiled from court. Normal Queen stuff.”

“Yeah, well, my father is apparently in love with her.”

“In love with Queen Catherine?” That was Milner, from the floor. H was still trying to process how the fuck the King of Dekanus could be in love with Veronica’s mother.

“Well, not like, in love.” JD looked like he wanted to demonstrate with his hands, but just ended up waving them around pointlessly. “Obsessed. Oh, and Cephy is her sister.”

Milner blinked up at them from the floor. H cackled. “Good thing you’re not related to her then, or your relationship with Veronica would get infinitely more complicated.”

JD glared at her.

⭗⭗⭗

Ok kiddos, time for a story. 

Picture the scene: It’s about thirty years ago, and you’re the old King of Westerburg, Veronica’s grandpa. The Prince of your neighbouring kingdom, Dekanus, claims to be madly in love with your eldest daughter, Catherine, after meeting her at a ball. 

Like, more than one ball. This isn’t a Cinderella situation.

He asks your permission to marry Catherine. Now, you’re inclined to agree, because you don’t really want war with Dekanus, as you have a sneaking suspicion that Bud is a sociopath. However, you dote on Catherine, she’s your favourite (bad parenting in my opinion), and she’s told you that she’s fallen in love with Leonard, son of the noble family Cort, and you decide, in your  _ infinite _ wisdom, that of course Catherine can marry Leonard instead, and you’ll send off Cephy, the less-pretty, less-smart, less-liked youngest daughter to marry Bud instead. He might not be happy, but there’ll be an alliance between your kingdoms, and therefore, no war!

Bud isn’t super happy about this new development, but there’s nothing he can do whilst the old King Sawyer is watching him. So he marries Cephy and takes her back to Dekanus. There, he promptly abuses her, cheats on her constantly, and basically goes insane whilst still being obsessed with Catherine and  _ extremely _ angry he didn’t get to ‘have’ her. One peasant woman he sleeps with, whose name I did try to discover but to no avail (doubt Bud even knew her name), gives birth to Prince Jason Dean, and is then executed to keep the secret from spreading. Despite the fact that baby JD and Cephy look literally nothing alike, she’s forced to pretend he’s her son.

Then old King Sawyer dies, and Leonard changes his surname to Sawyer to please his new bride, and takes the throne. Bud promptly breaks the treaty (I don’t know how he did this exactly, but I imagine him dramatically ripping up old parchment and throwing it out of a really tall tower), and Cephy purposely distances herself from JD, as he’s just a constant reminder that her being sent to Dekanus was completely pointless, and Bud swears that there will be a war.

OK, I don’t know if that’s exactly what she was thinking, but it seems about right.

He forces her to have another child, Naomi, just in case JD’s secret is ever exposed, but gets so angry at her disgusting decision to have a daughter that he swears never to touch her again, and goes back to bedding every woman in the kingdom. Whilst Cephy tries to raise Naomi and avoid her not-son JD, Bud turns Dekanus into a dictatorship and slowly prepares for war, determined to marry Catherine and have the kingdom for himself and whatever else he wanted. Twisted mind. I’d rather not pick at it.

I realise this was a rather...uncouth way to get all that information across, and Cephy probably told it all to JD in a very passive-aggressive tone, and he relayed it in a more oh-shucks-this-is-an-awful-family-I’m-part-of kind of way, but here we are.

Anyway, back to it.

⭗⭗⭗

“This is why I hate horses.” H groaned into Slushies back as he carried her towards Westerburg. “So fucking uncomfortable.”

After JD had explained everything, H had forced him to tell her the details of Veronica leaving, then decided it was best for everyone if she left to warn Westerburg of the King’s true intentions, as well as all the information Bud had collected about their castle and army. 

And besides, she didn’t want to stick around any longer. She didn’t want to see Heather. She didn’t want to risk being caught. She didn’t want to be there when JD did… whatever he was planning to do.

There were very little opportunities to look in a mirror when you were on the street. Looking rough was better, scowling was better. No time to care about how you looked if you were starving and freezing and abandoned. When she was taken into the court, she had to glance at every mirror she passed. First it was in delight, then fear of her expression, then compulsion. She had to check her eyes every time. Was there too much fire there? Or were they too cold?

When she left, JD’s eyes had been cold. That often bode worse than fire.

After all, the flames consumed you quickly, but an icy winter picks you apart slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> Sorry it's been a while. Small reminder: I am not the narrator, the narrator is a character yet to be revealed.
> 
> [ say hi :) ](http://scones-and-slushies.tumblr.com/)


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